The Wolf

She tasted like a wolf,
Howling in the shade of her
Gray robe and piles of blankets.
Her waistline made of marble,
Cold, tangible,
Fur in my teeth,
Traces of her body tracing out a
Caricature of what I once was,
Yet wanted to be again,
A poet in her sheets,
Taking shots of whiskey,
Watching her inches and curves fall off before me,
Touching her,
Vocabulary, wit, and all,
Touching me,
Eyes of the blue coastlines,
Finding me in my safe place.

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