Today’s poem is very “today”. It was written for the person I had lunch with this afternoon.
He, like many men in my life, is a long story.
This poem cuts a long story short.
I am the wolf at your door.
Howling and scratching to be let in.
I bring with me wildness, insecurity, the threat of sharp teeth.
I see you, peering from behind the kitchen curtains.
You are torn, between keeping your comfortable home safe,
and allowing my musky smell and feral ways, to mess up the Axminster.
You know that if you keep very quiet, and still, and small,
that eventually I will return to my pack: find some rogue wolf-male
to dominate me.
Yet I always come loping back to your porch. And resume my canine keening.
Don’t be fooled: your crackling fire and plump arm-chairs, are attractive in their way.
But that is not what brings me here.
It is you I want. You. Free from the soft-furnishings and mood lighting.
I want you out under the moon, taking me from behind, while I sink teeth into your arm, draw blood, release my scent
and howl…and howl…and howl.