There’s a page in
A graphic novel (Arkham Asylum)
Where they had Batman unconscious,
And they go to take his mask off,
So they can see his face,
Joker sneers and says
‘That is his real face.’
It is not a mask though,
An aspect, yes but it sat at the
Roots of my tree,
Waited for me to start digging
Into the dirt of my self,
Found him, fur clogged with dirt,
And helped him out.
Offering the gift of myself
As a generous act,
Holding you down,
Fucking the fragile savagery,
Until you are full,
With feeling and all.
Fly away like birds heading to warmth,
And you get to feel the same thing,
Touching my mask,
The same eyes.
The fur is soft beneath your fingertips,
A delicious rasp against your neck.
Tall enough to make you feel little
Draped across my chest, you talk
And I listen, even when you
Talk adorable nonsense in your sleep.
My actions are my roar
Loud in all the ways which matter,
Silent in the same ways too.
If this were just a mask,
You’d be someone I would let remove it,
See the man beneath, but he is not
He is through, within, intertwined.
Come closer, baby girl,
It is only wolves which
Bite strong yet tender women,
Daddy Bear wants the wild honey,
All your sweat and sweetness,
Cry into my chest,
I can bear it all.