These words are just clicks and squeaks and growls, telling you I want you.

This keyboard and the one on my phone are sticks in a termite hill, are feathers in my tail, and what I really want is for us to grab each other and bond and fuck for a few years, maybe longer, if you like.


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