Poetry

The reflection was never 
complete. 
I was trying, was trying 
to understand me, 
in absence of you. 
 
Looking into the persona 
making a saint― 
out of sexual surrogacy. 
 
The human gene― 
transcripted, on the borrowed womb? 
Will you now speak for the fear? 
 
I will never know you 
in dimlight― 
of suspicions. 
 
Are you a complete man now?