We never spoke of love.
Mutual desire masked in animal-skins and scales,
In tooth and fang, bites drew blood and claw-marks,
Scratched the length of the spine.
I was a bar-fly with money and as the clock ticked and tocked,
An increasing appetite.
She was a wasp, not necessarily a White-Anglo-Saxon Protestant.
She belonged only to the insect kingdom. All appetite.
Other lives, different nights, we would have toasted each other
With whisky and cheap beer, maybe even dated, became a couple.
Tonight, we feasted on each other,blood and flesh,
Parasites of one kind or another.
Our union spawned a new predator,our hungers combined.
From the bedroom, a new hunter emerged.
The best and worst of our union.
Our husks could only bear witness to the birth,
With another Happy Hour only a few hours away.