(rape) Phnom Penh

[Flos Campi]

If I could know your sprawling city streets
like those in this three river four face town
(and that thoroughly, though I digress)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear, unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out,
uncertain of where tempest winds would lead,
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
if brick and stone fulfill your deepest needs—

My dear, my house lies doubled, halved in pain
for I had counted like on prayer beads
that east in east would keep its western shape,
that koki walls would stand against spring rain
and shelter from the swelt'ring autumn heat
and camouflage from red militia rape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.

(I was trying to achieve a narrator with a wandering, frazzled mind in this poem, but I fear it might have made it come across as incohesive and disorganized. Any advice to help with this particular issue [or any of course] is greatly appreciated.)

Phnom Penh

If I could know your sprawling city streets
just as I know those in this very town
(and that is thoroughly, I do attest)
then maybe once again we two could meet
just as we did when time bossed us around
but childhood kept us in its own warm nest—

We've flown since then I fear: unfurled our wings
still damp with sticky yolk and spread them out
uncertain of where wandering winds would lead
and you have built a sturdy home with things
which give you no excuse to stop and doubt
aesthetic matters which serve no great need—

My dear, my house lies in fair shambles now
for I have fashioned it with foolish hope
that beauty would suffice to keep its shape: 
If only I could silently lie down
and sleep under your own roof I could cope
but as it stands these wounds will stay agape—

These city streets are closing in tonight
and now I doubt that I have ever known
them with the confidence that I have claimed
for when I try to picture them alight
with the same sunbeams that cover your own
I cannot see: they stay dark all the same.