Feral at midnight, a pair

of green lanterns in the underbrush,

I wait motionless

for your mistake and your misstep.

Ten curled claws and four incisors

will all meet in your flesh:

you are hot for me, you taste like iron,

you are the kindling for this inferno.

One taste will make me tame;

for a second I will 

purl the claws away, twist

and wind up into your lap like a lover.

Give it to me: give

me a mouthful of your sap, let the scent

of your injury climb my nose

and perch inside my mind.

Iron, chlorine, nitrites, pheromone:

you are my insistence, you are

the same instinct as keeps me kicking

up against the bark, climbing

to the canopy for protection and peace.

You are my drive toward aging, my only

need aside from rain and sun and meat.

Touch me here in

the deep deciduous night, rub your palms

against the beating body of me.