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