Last night waiting for you I had a brief but intense relationship with a cat
we indulged all the games of lovers
casual flirtation, playing hard to get, making concessions and taking chances,
and it struck me that cats would make excellent lovers
because their bodies tell me everything that I need to know about giving pleasure.
You wrote a poem across my body while I slept
and in the morning I awoke with your words
seeping into my skin
snaking around my thighs
their red lips on my hips
curling about my breasts
and tailing off with a goodbye.
and as I scrubbed myself clean I realised
that though its not just ink that I've left on your sheets
I never penetrated your skin with anything deeper than my nails
and for all the words you covered my body with
I only ever wanted saliva, semen, teeth that drew blood,
and fingers that made me follow their calling.
I did not want to be written but played,
with the instinct of a cat
rubbing its head against a fence post,
because it feels good.