I have howled mournfully at the Wolf’s moon,
knee deep in the snow of a frozen winter’s night.
Grieving the loss of my lover, the fantasy
of he and I tangled in white, cotton sheets,
touching for the last time his rough face
happy, content, in love, just an illusion.
It’s complicated, he growled
as he changed into the Wolf and fled.
I have howled, screamed and cried
wept tears that froze on my cold cheeks.
I have walked across a barely, frozen lake
stood at the edge of a rocky cliff,
searching for my Wolf in the darkness.
Offering up the bloody remains
of my heart to tease his hunger.
Surely, he didn’t forget the taste
Inspired by The Wolf Moon By Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet
The Wolf Moon
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