Pitiful Creatures

We are pitiful creatures, really.
Our cries, mere imitations animal whimpers.
Our hair isn't needed for warmth.
Our teeth are clean and polished and
if they hurt, we fix them.
Our hands are soft and smooth.
Our food is already prepared.
Our beds are not mere hay,
our skies are not just one, no more
are we our own animals... yet
our instincts come out in shinning armour.
When we enter the limits of our nature,
and forget about the clean teeth and haircut,
when our energy goes unbridled, when
we shudder from inside, at just our thoughts,
and our passions come alive, in that time
that we creak our bonds and finally
let go.
Tell me, what happened to your
pressed slacks, brushed hair, and the soft
hands you rub together in thought.