we are no limp paw on a dumb path
we claw at the door
gnaw at the pane
willfully remembering
the jagged edge of every old entry
the flesh wounds on my flanks
your unspoken animus
mauling and moaning in me
we backstab
at a final branding penetration
lured back to these cold rooms
we unexist ourselves in rituals
of over and over
you from a hawk to a hummingbird
hovering beside my zero hour
and I allow you to drink darkly
from the deep pull
of my bitter thirst
for all of this blooding
the knife of your never
ending lust
letting go
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