Type Five

The Summer Moon sinks, tiredly
Meteor showers stay their votive fire
Careful, now
The forest has a mind to swallow your shadows.

Yet you whisker twitch, fly off into the night
Hellbent archangel
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. 

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