Grimbeau

I sat staring 
wide awake

At a snow white candle on an 
empty round table

Sired for wounding
Or so it feels,

A beast of field & stream
This pelt makes it real:

Lank, soaked, maculate
creaking, cloying

character armour…

A warning!
Do not trip

On the large smooth
shiny spongey
granite muffin

At the door
In the night
It slid there
whipped cajoled & now
wet-nursed by tender
urgent scrubber

Those same
handmaidens
who passed on
this message:

‘I just curled
to say I
love you.
Skip.’