Circus – I am their master, this is my stage

 

My stomach churns a tune and you listen

I stroke your m-shaped head

Uncurl your lip

Soften that threat-poise

I wrestle you down in front of the crowd

Golden lions

Sheath your scissor teeth

Light fingers shut your vice-mouth gentle

Become the cubs I know you are

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s