About Wolves

We are asleep in a desert, back to back,
facing the mirrors.
My hands, behind your head, do not move.

The dog comes, takes a bite of my flesh
and goes away.
I keep still.

In a while, another dog returns to take a bite of me
and goes away.
The words seal the perfect wounds.
I catch the reflection of each letter moving,
wrapping the scars on my leg
with water knots.

At midnight, the wolves arrive to stare at me,
hungry, getting closer and closer.
I do not fight, nor howl. I let them
tear my skin apart
as you dream and sigh in your sleep.

Not me, a new born poem
comes to light at your rib, in the mud.

Advertisements

Rituals (II)

Sometimes when both of us have dinner
The silent wolf stops by to watch.
I hear the knock on the window but keep
Looking at you and burst into fits of laughter.

We talk about the constant rain and
Listen to the tapping sound on the roof.
I offer you another glass.
The distant howl breaks the metallic echo in the room.

The ocean drips and drips
Cold over the plates, the table cloth
Whilst I wipe everything clean
Ready to hold new words between my beautiful teeth.

20140205-154448.jpg

Mixed media: Maria Butunoi