My fur,
Warm and soft,
Carrying the scent of
Your skin,
Paws brushing the silken
Skin, capable of bruising dialectic,
Yet held in abeyance,
My lips, full and gentle,
Send prayers,
To the divine feminine,
Held close and have you
Feel my strength,
Apart but not absent,
Centered in the storms
Of the everyday,
Blessed by your lightning,
My roar, louder than
Your thunder,
Here, mouth open and
Drinking your rain,
Without retreating,
The silence afterwards,
Deafening and
Yet my ears remain,
Attuned even as they
Ring.
Divining the meaning,
Speaking plain,
Acting as the same,
From the cave,
Within myself,
Something authoritative,
Calming and without
Caveat.
MB Blissett 