is no place for such as I.
My two cat companions, who walk with me at either side,
dislike getting wet, unless it is with blood.
My lionesses might put off another lover,
but when you feel wild-coarse fragrant fur at the bedside, moving,
you dangle your hand and smile, half-asleep, unperturbed.
I love your heart, which hides in the high grass of your body.
The hurricane has all the Weather Channel reporters in nerdgasm,
spinning counter-clockwise and yapping
as if they themselves were noteworthy storms
auditioning for the indifferent sky.
You know me, I don't give a shit for the usual women--
but you...today you have worn your oldest, softest, queerest red flannel shirt,
and black boots the devil might covet, but can't rock the same.
You are flame and smoke, but it is me who is consumed.
It has been a bad season for me, sweetheart.
My helmet with its feathers and nose guard has a crack in it;
I will use it for a planter to grow geraniums come springtime.
See? I kid myself that I will be here, then, in your arms still.
My cats have gone, they have an instinct about disaster.
Why do I feel awkward, naked in front of you this way?
You have seen my skin, touched it and possessed it, many times;
but this is a deeper baring.
The hurricane is coming, the water is a strange gray-blue;
its restless brooding is noisy and ominous.
I will wear my silver wrist cuffs and all my rings,
burning sage and balsam to keep my hennaed feet close to earth.
I hate this, this goneward flow of all my art and cunning;
the hurricane is coming and I can't do a thing to stop it--
when I was strong enough to crack the necks of jackals, I loved you.
Now, I wince as I lower myself into the bath, but I love you still the same.
Don't forget me, baby.
Don't forget the girl with the cats, and the way with words.
And you? My Love, you were raised in the teeth of the storm,
and you pace the beach, singing to it inside your head,
with your perfect up-yours smile,
Indian hair twisting behind you in the wind,
ready as any woman can be.
for Margaret's Play It Again, Toads #2. Because I am shameless, I have written for my own Lights, Camera, Love challenge.