The other room

I like me the feel of the other room

Of our birth, triumphs and wantonness.

A boundless space some say, of roiling va-va-voom.

A soulless place others say, of trenchancy and brutishness.

In its wallow, I am enveloped in purpose of an intense clarity.

In its embrace, an opacity and perdition

Of frightening parity.

I am surrendered to the wind of its uncertain seduction

As it charts its course of avarice and artifice.

I feel swept towards redemption from excess and unwholesome predilection,

That honey trap for casual sexism and corruption’s suffice.

In its throes I pray not for catastrophic loss of self and reason,

The other room of our centre’s miserable lack.

But rather me, love’s perpetually cheery season

which rains on us all, leaving its indelible mark.