Where the Wild Things Are
I’ll eat you up, say the beartrap
smiles of strangers, city streets
became the valley of the monsters, the island with no water
and nowhere to go, but beasties beg pardon
to the boy king of wild things,
I, imposter, fake man-sovereign,
running with the wolves,
dark under covers. See, I am chameleon,
watch how fast I switch my skin
this crown, crowned headdress,
slight of wrist, and conquer.
City sheets, where the monsters aren’t under beds
but in them, pulling blanket threads with
the spines down their spines
backs warm under fingers
When we dream
we give ourselves a bite to protect,
draw Sharpie walls around bruises
ink them into snow leopard spots.
Sharp claws, stay away,
but come closer. Wake with dull fangs,
chests like caverns, always coming back to eat
because we’re so damn hungry, Baby,
and perhaps the moonlight is just as much made
for dancing as it is howling.
The less monstrous you, with arms around waist, still growls
“Please don’t go, I’ll eat you up, I love you so.”
And I do, enough to peel the feline from my spine
to retract the claws, trace the fur along your jaw
without pulling. Love you enough to stay
this falsified king.