Page 3 of The Initial Insult
in the cool.
Piling onto my back, we give,
each to the other,
Warmth and memories—
both carried in blood.
They settle on me, curl against my belly,
our soft clicks
And rough tongues, filling the night.
They wish for what I have,
Food—roof—clean coat—fresh water.
I want what they are.
Achingly thin. Slip under the fence
A young one rolls, sleep making her reckless.
Slides down my pelt,
Pooling near my mouth.
Another feline’s bones in my teeth would be bitter.
So instead I lick, a mat
Separates under my will, like the rabbits who crack open
when they wander too close.
She is young, and warm,
blood close to the skin with sleep.
It doesn’t have to be spilled. For me
To smell the memories, best and last.
If I took her she would be
mother / rain
I huff, her pelt billowing under my breath.
Deeper is her last meal
still in her blood,
death mixing with her life, quiet as it fades.
warm / poison
