I came to you, domestic. You gave me back

my wild nature, teeth of my heart. I never thought

to tame you (would break us both) but slowly

reached my hand towards your ferocity, stood

at that border, waiting for my scent to become familiar, my body

part of your landscape, another footstep recognizable

in the night, if I am still,

you may pass close, near enough for biting,

for kisses, until sleep separates

our darkness. At sunrise, pacing around your solitude, chewing

away at silence, blood has no questions, no replies. I put my lips

to every scar – “not the kind of girl to run

away screaming” – I lap up

cum as willingly as tears. And let both

fall into puddles on my belly, rivers across my breasts, water

glasses we drink from, civilized again, yet un-belonging

to anyone but hands remember