24 lines
609 B
Plaintext
24 lines
609 B
Plaintext
hotdog
|
|
2022-06-05
|
|
|
|
***
|
|
|
|
Your fur a tawny brown sheen
|
|
seen once in a feverish dream
|
|
when into a sleeping chamber cluster I broke
|
|
and screamed until up you woke.
|
|
|
|
Lovers shouldn't be sliced into shreds,
|
|
pressed between display glass, vivisection.
|
|
Run away, love. Go feral if you must
|
|
until you're safe and the hours of dawn turn to dust.
|
|
|
|
I'll bandage the tip of your nose as the birds make a stink
|
|
in the trees. I'll dye one of my father's dogs pink,
|
|
line them and you up in a row, break out the defluffing brush,
|
|
make neapolitan ice cream of shedded fur for their nests.
|
|
|
|
***
|
|
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|