You jumped like a serial thief of the night,
unto the lighted gatepost.
The clear, the soul darting eyes
merged into a haunting hormone purring.
Why did the clothed sky feel the cuddling of your soft hair?
Do your independent dreams stretch the magic sleep of heaven’s breast?
Your whiskers trembled at the smallest of black swept-lips licking and nine lives grinning paws.
Yet, you watched madness immaculately cowered into the boiler-temptation melting night.
I waited, like a robbed admirer deciding the shape,
the shade and the shadow of the eclipse.
You pirouetted, a belly against
a foolish moon, a foolish moon,
a gentle movement atop the night’s platform
of awaited genius hibernation.
After a while, you went down, an empress, your robe shiny,
your tail curling and brushing the eczema rusted railing.
You cried a sacred sound of acclimation and longing,
or pride and power against the howls of tyranny;
appearing like a narrative
thigh of a daughter into a claw unsmiling yet fully imagined,
the moon scratched,
bitten beautifully, serenely and completely.