The kittenish curling of paws
Is replaced by howls.
Pet me! Pet me! Feed me!
And not that Fancy Feast crap!
No more pouncing on stupid toys
That’s for kittens.
But she is not yet a cat.
She cannot kill a mouse to earn her keep.
She has no clue how to raise a litter.
That tomcat is bad news.
Dust motes twirl in the airy sunlight.
Should she leap in rapturous pursuit?
Meditate upon them in sphinx-like silence?
Her tail twitches.
Six-Word Sentences (credit also to Ed Manchester)
Can’t talk. Must work. Selling soul.
Public restroom. Soapy hands. Broken faucet.
Why will I never know why?
Everyone’s a foreigner. Everyone’s a friend.
Same type conversations lack hybrid vigor.
Rhombus among rectangles seeking friendly trapezoid.
Self-directed, life-changing, envelope-pushing, cross-sectional, wide-ranging experience.
Live and learn, then press delete.
Be careful with that delete key.
She slams doors. He picks locks.
She empathizes with him for once.
Beaming smiles, happy hearts, six words.
You say I am not listening.
I listen to your life.
The truth you tell.
The truth you don’t.
The life you live.
The life you won’t.
You never said –
(I heard the silence.)
You never meant –
(Nor didn’t mean.)
You never promised –
(But I believed.)
The space between us
Is freedom for you
And entrapment for me.