No, when you ask me
"who do you love?".
I have not kissed the one
who will undress me.
At night, the wolves come down
to lay beside the fire,
black-fur silvered with light,
the smell of earth in their claws.
And I know the secrets
of their well-earned love-
the darkness, trees, catching
the flickering moon.
1 comment:
I love this, the wolves are perfect.
I love all your poems in fact, how do you manage to produce so many excellent poems?
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