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Lycaon
#1
The moon is high and full
but I cannot save you.

In your heart you are a howling beast,
fickle to all but what you serve
in a given moment.

My tongue is the silver bullet
as I refuse offering you my unbroken throat.

Slick in blood you only feed empowered
momentarily; the hemorrhage a perfect song
for but a wink.

The winter in your veins is insatiable.
It pulses like the tides during perigee,
lucid and hungry.

I won’t let you steal the honey from
my ribs in greedy mouthfuls. I
won’t stumble into your labyrinth
of hidden eggs and candy
the way you lure others who think they are geodes.

Your maw is a graveyard of teeth
carved with the names of the dead.
The inscriptions crawl toward me.

To love you with abandon
is to be gutted and de-boned with a smile,
eaten beneath the snow moon.
© Amber Dawn 2014
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