Stray dogs for dinner

November 7, 2017

We missed the first frosts,

in warm unmade beds.

That scent was us.

The sun was low

and in the room with us all day.

Over the arms of chairs,

agains the walls,

it’s warmth was the shape of your back.

Sleeked around us the afternoon,

and walked out the door by four.

Us, stray dogs for dinner.

Pack animals holding hands.

Raw cheeked, black lipped.

Blood up from the run.

The night and the day,

and a night to come,

alight inside the other.

A love,

not yet ready for housebreaking.

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