We move like cagey tigers. Oh!
We couldn’t get closer than this
The way we walk, the way we talk
The way we stalk, the way we kiss
- The Cure
Food for you my lover, my friend
Not a morsel is left to spare.
You strip me bare, expose my fear
You are the deep water I wade.
There was a time I thought you lost
Chased off by my loud mouth, my pride
Slowly, carefully, like a cat,
I slinked up to you in moonlight.
You arched your back, you hissed, you scratched
Quietly, you licked my hand wet
Breathed in, stretched out, relaxed and purred
I knew then I’d crossed your abyss.
Now we hunt liFe as man and wife
The “fruit of our lions” has grown!
We’ve watched over our kitten love,
Cursed to fail, we have yet survived.
In trusting this wild alley cat,
Your sleek feline charms have blessed me,
Nine times over and many moons,
Transformed my yowling moods to swoons.
Note: When I first shared these words at a poetry evening, MR the convenor guffawed loudly and bellowed out: “You didn’t just use the phrase ‘fruit of our loins’ did you? Oh my God man, I can’t believe you just said that!” I stupidly agonised about it like a ponce but actually damn it all, I like the King James Version of that old testament phrase for offspring. While it may offend some overly-sensitive ears, instead of ripping it out, I’ve humbly bastardised it.