Ariel, Pacific NW poet

Wolf

I am a creature of impulses,
stymied;
a lean wolf cornered
yellowed eyes glowing in the night,
claws blunted by trying to climb cliff walls.

You gave me three words
eleven days ago, wrong words;
I wanted “I want you”.

I was already mid-spelled,
metamorphing the lunar hunger
regrowing primal urges and tastes
that had grown numb and sloughed off.
My skin was learning the feel of you;
I was starting to walk bare foot again over ground,
feeding my naked skin again on moonlight,
fingernails tracing arcane runes
Starlight dancing my flamed hair.
There was that wildness –
My fierce wildness –
that had been caught, restrained
hid behind locks and mechanisms
Now released, sprung – I’m sure it showed
in my brown eyes.
My legs caressed each other,
my hands wandered in anticipation;
It was the starlit dance – the night, the fire.
When your lit mouth was on my breasts
I could have howled from pleasure;
my hips circled, searched. Still did
in the morning. Circling.
Searching.

Incomplete. Unmated.
“That was fun” – smiley face
wrong words to complete the spell;

something went wrong –
an aught text instead of a seduction.
Something turned, is turning
and I’m sure it was me –
I’m sure it was my eyes
waiting for a counter.
But I’m already caught
by the four elements outside the circle
already drowning in this released hunger
waking wet in the morning dew.

I allowed this, I remind myself;
I took those steps back, slipped back the latch.
It is five hours past the witching hour
and I now weave a different spell
that of indifference, of bland toast and milk;
I cover my skin modestly,
slip on sensible heels,
step and sit inside that cubicle.
Caged.

Ariel