Post by Whimsical||MUSE; on Nov 9, 2011 0:03:36 GMT -5
Of Fangs and Fur
I am disarmed;
gentle warmth slips up from the darkness,
a hole he has left,
filled to the brim with something akin to beauty.
If only I could roll it around in my fingers,
hold it close as I toss into dreamless,
colorful sleep.
There is an image here,
of myself -- reflected in a gaze I cannot reach,
but still perceive. So close, yet so far --
a tender love, without passion,
but bound tighter around my heart
where wolves dance in a flurry of snow.
The cat crawls forward, burrowing it's face
in the wolf's neck,
seeking safety
near it's fierce, trembling jaws.
November 8, 2011
I am disarmed;
gentle warmth slips up from the darkness,
a hole he has left,
filled to the brim with something akin to beauty.
If only I could roll it around in my fingers,
hold it close as I toss into dreamless,
colorful sleep.
There is an image here,
of myself -- reflected in a gaze I cannot reach,
but still perceive. So close, yet so far --
a tender love, without passion,
but bound tighter around my heart
where wolves dance in a flurry of snow.
The cat crawls forward, burrowing it's face
in the wolf's neck,
seeking safety
near it's fierce, trembling jaws.
November 8, 2011