Thank god velvet is back in fashion.
red on a little girl.
I’m trying to think of words that describe softness
warm fur and sunshine and flowers and round clouds of cigarette smoke you gift me.
I’m trying to uncomplicate how I feel about these things that smell like danger
and why we’re drawn to men like wolves, howling in the night, hungry.
The woods were full of flowers
you gathered their scent until you couldn't hold any more.
And the wolf kept his hunger sharp
devouring woman after woman.
Conveniently in tales, the wolf always falls into a sleep so strong that you can cut him open—fill him with flowers and stones.
There is always a lake or river to drown a wolf in. No one ever dies.
There is always a parking lot full of fear as you cross it, fiddling with your keys
watching for eyes watching from empty cars.
watching for doors sliding open before the dawn.
Weightless, the body of the second wolf floats in the through, waiting to be found in the morning by a group of young neighboring women. At least one will say
that he was always good to her.
(FROM THE LITTLE RED CAP)