Of silent steps down the strip of my mind,
And dainty whispers in-between the creases,
Of furtive glances behind the embattled sky
And promises at the tip of the inky tongue,
The comfort of the right choice
Comes from the way one of us always
Holds tighter when we embrace.
Yet, the prickle in the wrong one
Feels bitterly alive at ripen nights
When the moon sheds off layers of skin
Into a snakelike coil, under your open eyes
That summon Hades rather to stir things
Into unbalance than console the loss.
Hold me a longish while, just enough
To catch you red-handed and into the stealth
Of a hungry feline.