The temperature plummets and the haze settles;
I release the howl that begins the hunt.
In the narrow stillness between instants,
you linger like a hundred words stuck in between my teeth.

Dusk is my waking call; the fog shadows my every step.
Tonight, I’m searching for you.

I’m frenzied for the taste of sea-salt in your hair,
for the rip and tear of my nails at your ribcage.
I’m hungry for the beast contained within;
I want to feel the bleating rhythm on my tongue.

I am chronic rage and uncontained instinct
and you crumple beneath the force of nature I have become.

But come the dawn, you’ll get up
from your skinned knees, wipe the blood from your nose,
and gobble me up like so much oxygen in your lungs.
And I will await the dusk, again.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This poem

two versions of a poem.

updated Feb 2 by rhetoric