You pray for deliverance
when the pause between
the words have some
meaning.

Moon sheds the light.

A fantasy takes a risk,
going too deep in for future.
You fumble with the right tone.

I ask you to come
slowly like a wounded tigress
for a final kill.

The silent howling
bends down to pick up the
red clover. Nobody wants to
be half-dead.

My immaculate faults glare.
The copperhead waits. I
am ready to take a kiss.