I look for you in his blanket stares
easily glancing past his flesh hungry fangs
tonight I'm not food
I can't be

it is mid July but I am shivering from December's past
holding onto subtle soft gazes
as if they weren't just accidents
as if they weren't the moment before a blink
when you're really not forming an emotion
I hold on to those as if after the blink your eyes are not ravenous
to me those are December eyes
to me those are not his eyes
I beg for them to be your eyes
soft even when they're wide open

but it is warm and his eyes are sharp
and I am the effortless hunt
I wandered, wounded to his doorstep
and although he was still full from dinner
I became a routine late night snack

a.m