My Wolf

I have howled mournfully at the Wolf’s moon,

knee deep in the snow of a frozen winter’s night.

Grieving the loss of my lover, the fantasy

of he and I tangled in white, cotton sheets,

touching for the last time his rough face

happy, content, in love, just an illusion.

It’s complicated, he growled

as he changed into the Wolf and fled.

I have howled, screamed and cried

wept tears that froze on my cold cheeks.

I have walked across a barely, frozen lake

stood at the edge of a rocky cliff,

searching for my Wolf in the darkness.

Offering up the bloody remains

of my heart to tease his hunger.

Surely, he didn’t forget the taste

of me.

Inspired by The Wolf Moon By Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet
The Wolf Moon

Picture Credit: Pics Art