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Werewolf’s Aubade

by on Feb 3, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

Before I met him I was a wolf. With the sun he rolled me over, his cool hands on my hot gut. He said, Good morning. I still love you. I remember the moonlight like naked silver through my skin, my muscles, glinting off bone, but that’s all. I told him I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and...

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