His habitat is chaos
A littered bedroom of unkempt garden
He craves the look of the wild
He despises the sweat and malice of the human work place
And can't hold down a job for long
Nor tolerate what passes for conversation at the pub
He reveres the mighty tiger
And eats and sleeps when he wants to just like a lion
But he could never bring down a young gazelle
He'd rather sleep in the woods than a hotel
Or down a back alley like a stray dog than in a shared house
He's not permitted to be anything but solitary
He looks up only at the stars
And away at the sight of that which is supposedly related to him
He is yet to find his home
Sea horses pair for life
And most bipeds find and take it when they want it
But he is yet to love or be loved
...yet to find his pack...