Where my words give lie to the wolf under the skin.
(not) finite.
(you) misapprehend my hunger.
here. hold your hand to the night sky
to measure its depth
by reach
or
close your fingers
around the stars
and
tell me
how many
you can hold
tell me
the distance between the darkness,
your captured stars,
and my
hunger.
tell me
you already had this dream
that the sky
is no darker
than the belly
of my beast.
tell me
you understand that submission
and salvation
can both be found
on your knees
you are a constellation
a map of suns
bright enough
to see through closed eyes
It is said that darkness provides the cover needed to be our true selves.
There is truth in that. In the grace of dark cover, away from curious eyes, we are often granted the bravery necessary to acknowledge our more wicked sides.
But it is not enough.
Because it is only when you are seen as your most wicked self that it becomes something real. Something not just awknowledged, but embraced.
Listen.
You are most honest when held by a gaze that doesn’t judge. Under the eyes of someone who accepts all parts of you, you can unfurl, reaching towards truth and allow your walls to lower. It is there that you find fertile soil to let your hungers grow.
And I – I am large enough of self to provide the shade you need to be brave. I am confident enough to let the vines find purchase about my limbs.
And I am strong enough to help you nurture that garden that I might pluck the fruit from the vines, sink my teeth into plump curves, and savor your secret self.
this is your last chance.
the last open door
the last bit of daylight
the last choice
before all the rest
belong
to
me.
be the rain for me.
kiss my cheeks
and bless my lips
hide my tears
with your own
wash away
all things
but
this.
(the rain)
(and you)
the unwinding of clocks
reminds me that momentum
is relentless
unless you have
teeth.
what if I told you
there was a wolf
who knew where you slept
and wasn’t afraid
to set his teeth
against your dreams
and make them his.
if you are marked
by intent
(gripped from behind, tangled hair in rugged claws)
would you offer
yourself to the wolf?
you are one breath away from being in the grip of my hunger.
just one.
one breathe is forever.
it’s long enough to feel fear.
convinction,
anticipation.
desire,
doubt,
surrender.
one breath is long enough to meet my eyes
and after that
you have no time at all.
it is a mercy
and memory
a dream
sparked in the passing of hubris
and the sweetness of light.
dwell.
desire.
decide.
Let us talk of hunger.
Share our ideals of what constitute a fine meal. The placement of the instruments which will elevate our feast from sustenance to experience.
Let us sit, here, and discuss the shape and size of our hunger.
Let us.
Let me.
Invite me in. Show me the places your hunger has carved inside of you. The artful erosion of practicality giving way to baser nature. Let me run my fingers along the smooth surfaces of the softer considerations: Your first kiss. Cuddling in a tent. Let me brush my hand over the sharper edges, the one’s that make you bleed when pressed against. How it feels to have a hand braced along your throat, holding you in place, holding you in.
Let me lick the remnants of your restraint from your fingertips.
Let me show you.
Let me re-arrange your pieces until there is enough space for us to feed.
Let me introduce you to my wolf.