The bark:
It found me walking your street at night
Worried to find my way home
Along a crooked patch of tall grass fogging
10 claws behind a white picket fence
Melting slowly through memory
charged with broken tradition
and heated "what ifs"
As if sooner or later it knew that if it held loud enough
The boundaries would topple
and the marvel of a delicious body
Devoured
Could settle the accounts of dispute
As two cups clink together
In a cloud of insecurities
And lapping tongues.