Laid bare

Who knows what form –
who cares? Who dares
to comprehend
(or try pretend)
the fair, the storm,
the wild, the norm,
the fear, the fire,
the cold desire
that shivers for the glare that tears
and fells the jungle of your temper,
bare and open to the weather,
plain to see (and hide, in turn).
The days, they freeze.
The nights, they burn.

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