A Thing that Loves

It is not safe and comfortable

Like a tended hearth fire

With a cast iron soup pot over it

To be ignored til the liquid begins to bubble.

It is wild and dangerous,

A thing that loves.

It stalks its object in hungry silence And eats the beating heart.

It spreads its monstrous wings.

Talons closing over held breath.

And swoops down into deep moonlight.

It is naked and is cornered And it dies while living.

Love is.