Black cat makes sense of her. Tripping over two poorly placed feet she apologizes to furniture, making a way to bed. Unable to meet those peaceful green eyes, lecturing bad behavior with silence, she slams palms against light switches leaving him glowing in the living room corner. Under bathroom light she strips down to fur. Pulls out pins and jewels becoming feral and sad, full of musk. The black cat sniffs the jungle over her smeared body. Fallen into bed she clutches cold blankets in her mouth to stifle how lonely togetherness seems. He watches her head against the pillows, flicks and ear, and sighs. His tangled mother scars at night and she has every resource necessary to make it stop. But she is straight and still in awkward humanity. He moves like air conditioning across the bed, grooming rough scraps of skin until they lay flat and passive. Her small snores signal the dreams have not yet come and it is safe to lay in the basin of her back. Nestled against a complicated spine he purrs and prays for mother to sleep the night though, not grab at imaginary assailants or laugh the way drunk humans do. To him it sounds like choking and empty food bowls. Pressing his eyes closed he wishes for them to be together forever and for her to pet him in the morning, soft on his head and rough on his back. He will smile and tell her everything is going to be alright with the rub of his gums. She will open banshee eyes and remember the day they first met. Both scared and shy they claimed each other with one look. He has never told anyone how she cried the first time they touched. Her pain was electric and he wanted to trust but her whiskers were still in hiding. She wanted something broken she could love more than the tears of herself. The moon creeps up her thighs and he protects the night with kneading paws, molding a love perfect and forgiving. Numbers of the clock flip over the hours which mean nothing to the cat.

August, 2007