For my angry racoon.
We scratched and bit,
And clawed and gouged.
No fiercer love in these woods.
*
But as passions died with the sun,
Huddled together to face night.
Our scarred bloody bodies as one.
*
Tongues are busy cleaning spoils,
Limbs tangled pop from furious fur.
Eyes filled with desire peep from robber’s masks.
Dean Reeves
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