Clockwise Cat, Spring/Summer issue 2014

I open my window
for the skeleton of the night.
The darkness breathes.
It is dense like oil.
From afar you call me again,
waiting to see how soon,
how close I will come,
how unbearably sweet my mouth
will bite your neck under
the open collar.
Each morning I wake with blood
stuck to my lips.
The skies are loud.
Hoarse, raucous sounds
choke on themselves,
burn their way
through the night.
Birds fall on the ground
with their breastbones shattered.
My wings are high and wet,
newly born, my eyes—
yellow, wise.
Tonight I might fly higher
than recommended.

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