Thursday, August 23, 2018
Lycanthropy. by Linda Imbler
The moon waxes and night falls, as does his mood.
The transition begins with the first sip of moonshine,
the gentle nature of her snuggle bunny transforms,
it devolves quickly from subtle to noisy.
Words now have teeth,
spoken from behind fangs that bite with brutish nips.
His howling and growling
snarling, roaring beast emerges,
he beats his chest and pounces.
Claws as hands, once gentle,
twist arms and hair and her gut.
Emotions bounce off walls and she follows.
Confusion reigns and the animal stink
of both prey and predator grows stronger,
as she learns to fear the rising of the moon
and the raising of the bottle.
Every knock I here I think it’s you left your over night bag on the floor half zipped open like you were here the bed is a lonely place...