You don't wear jealousy well. Its raised hackles bring out the green of your eyes and the dark, animalistic way they've been lit lately. You foam desire, claws empty. You are peeking through the key hole. While I'm trying to peel my back from the door frame. Where I've been slumped since you walked out, tail tucked but shoulders certain. Now, I hear your frantic scratches and whining. Wild dog, I know you'd go running in the other direction if I even placed my hand on the door ***. I feel you just want to know there's a bowl for you and a warm place by the fire. Fine, you have it, but my heart cant hang by the leash on the coat rack unused but hopeful. That's too much to ask.