Warning

A lion's mane
-wind blows thick through thoughts-
What am I doing here
in this chair, on this Sunday afternoon
I know your blow is imminent.
I hear the roar stew up in my belly,
but look down to webbed feet
and dry ground.
My mirror shows I am a lion
for you - good steward of what I know
I believe I am strong, yet
muscles hang in ribbons from your ceiling
where you swing wildly.
I move ridiculously with duck's feet
and lion's heart,
dragging shreds of skin and bone I found
around you sleeping.
I eat tadpoles and tell stories
about the blood of antelope.
You pick flesh from teeth, and
toss back the mane of a predator.
Let me tell you over this bowl of tomato soup,
these will be a few of the last few tears
I have for you.
I had
for you.
So go ahead and lick the blood from my ear.
I haven't heard you for months
just the sound of my own wet feet stepping.