It’s beautiful the way they dance
Swaying with cheeks brushing together
A gentle caress here and there.
It’s calming, really.
Then they rally against the other,
Batting away, like drunken batterers.
Then the biting, the clawing
The yowls.
Eventually you get tired of
Watching them spat.
But what I wouldn’t give to see a video
Or still shots of what those little monsters
Do when no one is watching.
When you finally brave the living room,
They’re passed out, cuddled around each other
Purring in their sleep,
As if dreaming of pleasures
We didn’t get to witness.
My cats … are lesbians.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 3:39 PM UTC
It’s beautiful the way they dance
Swaying with cheeks brushing together
A gentle caress here and there.
It’s calming, really.
Then they rally against the other,
Batting away, like drunken batterers.
Then the biting, the clawing
The yowls.
Eventually you get tired of
Watching them spat.
But what I wouldn’t give to see a video
Or still shots of what those little monsters
Do when no one is watching.
When you finally brave the living room,
They’re passed out, cuddled around each other
Purring in their sleep,
As if dreaming of pleasures
We didn’t get to witness.
My cats … are lesbians.
Request permission to use this poem