One night I was a werewolf, but that got out of hand. One night you were a peach, but I preferred fresh over canned.
The blood scent was strong and on your collar, or was it spaghetti sauce? We meandered in the lost city of angels, but those women in the maternity ward were better shape-shifters.
Couldn't see if the moon was full against the polluted skyline, (but I bet it wasn't).
Then somewhere down the tracks, the howler (that's you), half a dream away on some deserted block, and flat on your back like a pancake, with the nightmares stacking up, and dripping with strawberry syrup.