Chronicles of a Shewolf

I like him masked, as the night itself
When insomnia binds us in her will
I like him covered in the shades of the tempest
And his butterfly lips take flight over mine.
I like his lines and the open endings in them
The devious narcotic moments of the wait
I like the black feathers.
I like his arms and the paths they suggest
Walking astray at - I like the one not taken.
Mars can sing for us when he commands
I like his gentle hunger and the distant howls
And the silent mystery.
I like the sage fragnance of his temple,
The way my fangs emerge
And the way he makes them retreat.
I like pretending to be Artemis
Under his taming hand.