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  • Lycaon
    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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