Does your lion?

Do your curls fib?

Do you surrender at the knifeshine,

cocking of the glock?

I only shy to save you,

hushing my barbarity.


Does she pace like a shark tanked,

baring her wilds?

Is it treacherous to feed,

or yours a hunger lurking,

hackles masked?


These weak forgeries,

rice paper fidelities,

our holographic trophies

of pomp and compromise

glare like plastic does.


Do we naked into battle,

relish the gore?

You cannot plunder gentle,

defile with diplomacy.

There are places for tender, sanctity

outside this adrenaline territory.


Do you roar in the dark?

Do you startle awake in the unlit morning

from blood lust

so animal

your human thins?


She does:

a ravenous eating away at the tame,


feral in the muscle,

fear caging the bed.

About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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