The Summer Moon sinks, tiredly
Meteor showers stay their votive fire
The forest has a mind to swallow your shadows.
Yet you whisker twitch, fly off into the night
You snarl when I hunt you down
Snap back like you’re singed,
Like I’m baring fangs instead of faery giggles
Starstruck at the sky, saying
Let’s backpack to Saturn, baby
Across the moons, baby —
I’d sew my body to yours.
I’d stitch my spine to your fingertips.
I’d braid my hair around your heart.
Am I such a burning ambush?
You’re biting the hand that feeds you, baby.