Poems

these feel thematically similar

She is laying in a bed of milk thistles
With wolves in her belly
And they claw and yip from inside her
And I do the same
My paws pressed in the dirt
Fur matted 
Snout billowing hot clouds of white breath
teeth pressed
The pressure and splitting of soft skin
Calmly she makes me her cub
Her whimpering wolf
Harpy handed and mad
Clawing past my silly snarling display
For she is the one who lays in a bed of milk thistles 
For her belly is full of wolves. 
And I am just another wolf.
-A

I press my thumb into the bruises of your fruit.
Nectar wet. Nectar wet.
Your sweat sour and sweet
deep like mud and roots
I press my tongue into the bruises of your fruit
Nectar wet. Nectar wet.
I can smell you ripe or rotting 
I can smell you fresh and green
pulled from the earth
or plucked from the vine
pressing your grapes between my fingers
I consume your wine
Nectar wet. Nectar wet.
-A

I held court for your feelings
at your side, 
as we presided over the many wars and treaties of your heart.
that kingdom of yours that saw so many battles.
and when the troubles of the crown weighed on your mind,
you would turn to me,
your confidant and adviser
and sometimes 
your jester
and I would assure you against some doubt you had
or make you laugh
and privately, away from the eyes of nosey courtiers
you would let me hold you
in the way no one should ever hold a queen
and yet in the only way that ever soothed you 
-A