wolfboy.

Wrapped up in the idea

that we could be lonely together,

I drew pictures of us

howling at the moon,

our chests open to its glow.

At night I’d trace my fingers

along the softest parts of your belly

trying to get our shivers to fall in sync

But I was a sheep trying to wear your hide

I stopped leaving my door unlocked

And I put the lamp back on the shelf

I expect you’ve done the same

These nights I sleep alone

safe for the moon in my window.  

It hangs low enough

that I don’t need to call to it.

It cradles me,

soft and reassuring,

whispering into my spine

“There is still so much”