Prowling - a recent chase

Prowling

again at your perimeter.

Not your fence, no,

I'm too high on pheromones

for that, I'm in the thrall of a rut,

and you're lights are on, a cruelty

to my denial. I paced your facade,

stepping on grass

so my boot heels will not give

me away. You're still awake- it is late,

why are you still awake. I willed you

to "Go to bed!", turn off the lights –

if you do, I could not intrude!

I would have to walk away,

shoulders hunched,

defeated but not rejected. Slink

again to home and my cold bed

and wait for dawn’s pale light.

But your lights are on! And vibrating

under my skin is your active pulse.

Only these planks of wood and glass

separating yet again!

The only effort needed would be to mount

those hard spare steps and, head lowered,

knock like a pilgrim. And you - you, of course.

You being forgiving, you undoing

the locks and gathering me.

Gathering me for on the way to your door,

I have been born, torn, and with every step

pieces of me have been shed, stripped.

Ariel

Nov 8, 2012

Written for a November Poem-A-Day challenge.