Her Cat-Food Kitchen

Her cat-food kitchen reeks —

a sordid poem in my

nostrils —

(why do I return each day?)

I stamp my hooves,

blow kitty-litter

before me in a dark

red Georgia clay

of desire

and lick the tingling sweetness

from her neck

with my sandpaper tongue.

Z

for dVerse Poet’s Pub A Quadrille using the word ‘poem.’

12 thoughts on “Her Cat-Food Kitchen

  1. Wow, Z! Wicked strange romance thing going on there. But the important thing is the part about the poet voice coming back for more. Not into cat food myself, but I get the impulse. Stick with what makes the hoofs stomp! Works in music and in… um, love. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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