Complexity thy name is Cat

Her skin was the colour of burnt honey
She had the fire of fish in her belly
Scars like pale strips of ginger,
dipped into thick yellow milk
Feathered pillows
stuffed with laundered birds.
She uncurls from the fireplace
wrapping you around her little claw
and files her nails
innocently.



Poetry by Su. G
Read 745 times
Written on 2006-12-28 at 06:40

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Rob Graber
Aha! They do indeed wrap us around their little claw... Funny & clever!
2006-12-28