Don’t Fear, My Darling

There are
wildebeests
running through my
sheets.
I am pushing down your hands
lower
lower
lower.
“Stop”
never comes.

Mufasa is falling from the mountain
and in the dust
you are trying to
turn a lion
into a kitten—-
and wanting her to be both:
aiming for the purr.

You make me
Simba crying on a corpse;
never have I enjoyed tears more.
In this elephants’ grave yard,
you lie inside my bones.

Everything the light touches
is yours.

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