at 11:11, after an absence of months, after
lingering, as a pair of glowing eyes in and
around the mouth of the submarine-grey
tiresome of social media, you
emerge–the large silvered wolf whose love
and hatred of life is still full of fangs.
ravenous, you eat the meat of attraction
maddened that curiosity and desire can be
contained in the shadow of a profile. only
under a contract of no privacy limits will
you stay demanding her unarmed hand for
frustrated: snarls, kisses, or silence. the
question is, who cares? who cares who
submit to whom? take the credit, set the
terms, finger her photos, fake your future,
take her body of evidence, take, take, take
until all candyass fear of loss is emptied.
does the moon care? the moon does not
give a fuck. the full frost moon answers to
no one. take what persephone has. take
from her hand like a god–you afraid who.
Waxing & Waning: A Literary Journal
A print and online literary journal publishing poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, screenplays, plays, art, graphic stories, & short films by April Gloaming Publishing.