November wet
by - S-

...for i want
to call her Kitten --
till her claws come out
and she bites the hand that kneads her;
commands the rhythm with kisses
into my neck,
and teeth in my shoulder

to call her Kitten --
till her species changes
and she is a "spelled-out"
because she will not do as she's told
because she will not just leave it alone
because she will not not be right,
and know it

to call her Kitten --
when she does not
land on all-fours
or the fence is too narrow to tread
or when i wake her laughing
at her snore
because it tickles my chest
or feeling her warm ball
cuddle in bed
and hiding with me from this cold,
November wet...

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