Pastoral

A claw so tender
that the ripping is a blessing.

I’ve talked so much about
the hopes tied to our actions

my mouth runs desert
help me make it

to the oasis. We can both
get our fill.

The therapy of consuming
seems to be working

I let my sheep out.
The pristine pasture only kept them

caged. You, wolf-eyed, never
crying know exactly why you salivate.

Thoughts are all unburst
bubbles - fantasies

giggled from lusty mouths
in these sweet clover fields,

cover me in your body,
let the howls rip through me.

Tiffany Belieu is working hard on her dream of writing. Her work is published or forthcoming in Back Patio Press, Q/A Poetry, Muskeg Magazine, Rabid Oak and The Mantle among others. She loves tea and cats and can be found @tiffobot on Twitter.