A lamb in a family of teeth

A lamb in a family of teeth

will spin wool into claws.

Running only leads the way into

the black; domain of yellow eyes.

The distance is never enough

for its thread of yarn will always

betray it and a neck between jaws

will break

and break

like a heart.

I stood in the meadow, under a merciless yellow

sun. Grass the color of death, a land starved

for pity. Wildflowers fought at my feet, my heels

burned with their need. I lost my bearings

at the end, searched for beliefs

at the start. I had nearly turned

my back

when I saw her.

A tender thing, all limbs and

no dart. The silence of her timid footsteps drowned out

all other sound that had endured me. Even the birds and the bees

went quiet, as to preserve her innocence. Curls a virgin white

danced before my eyes. Let this be clear: I pulled the wool

voluntarily.

In my life, I have kissed my foe

and scorned its love, and I have stood

at the precipice of mutual destruction

and jumped.

Only I landed

on my claws. Sheepish is the wolf

that doesn't watch its back.

So,

when I loved her

in the meadow, her tender neck

between my jaws, when I sank my teeth into her

I bit down and

broke my heart.