Repition

Again begets again,
and off we go.
Tug of war,
a back
and forth
sort of pulling
reaching
stretching.

Only I feel
each thread of hair
lost by the scrape
of eager palms
gripping and wrenching
letting go only
to wrench and grip
again.

An again foresees another
and off we go.
the tug,
of war.
A back and forth
sort of yearning,
lusting
longing.

Only I know
every mud drenched dream
lost between arms
anguished by the
constant clench.

Again beckons the next,
and off we go
this tug of war
which I cannot grasp.


I, the rope.