Whiskers

You know how dreams sometimes combine the elements of your day(s) in odd ways? That’s how I write poems, when I write poems.

Lover, in the bath you grip me
like a cat, my domestic airs forgotten
as the water meets my hips before
my toes are dipped.
Shed hairs tickle your lips but
you can’t hold me down and
brush them from your face without
risking losing it
if I should decide to scratch instead of splash.

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