She calls. Is a bobcat on fire. Wants my hunger and my scissors.
Growls low because she needs to know I’m hers—that the moon’s always here.
At night she fears we’ll drift apart, so she hides the knife, ties me close.
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Very nice.
ReplyDeleteI dig this as well. I'd like to see it amidst the pages of poems, in hard copy. It's a strong poem either way. I think it will fit in nicely with the rest . . . "Wants my hunger and my scissors"! "She calls. Is a bobcat on fire?"! Good!
ReplyDeleteI really like the format on the blog for this poem.
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