I wore wild;
a key-scraped cloak at shoulders
you, a selkie-gown, woven in strands of gold and honey
my wolf swallowed the moon
and would not sleep
for thirty days
I found you hiding beneath the tree
shaking frost from the leaves
as if spring might slip free
I hid a caramel apple amongst the fallen fruit.
you found poisoned slumber
and I stretched your dreams into a net
for a perfect drop of blood
tonight, I will hang the red moon
and my wolf will finally
sleep again