Replacing the Flint

I had the doorway between my fingers. All ready to crush. Smaller than I ever thought it could be. Even from such a distance. Moments squeaking back and forth like children on their playground swings. Kicking the air to trot for them. The triangle of his touch marking its degrees. The rocking chair in his chest lulling me to sleep.

Hoepless carnivores. Deriving life from death. In every way. Tenative lovers with their paint by numbers friends. Telling only the lies we are sure to believe.

Should the question ever arise. What we tried to be. What lions we almost tamed with our frayed whips and broken chair.

It's inside the cage where their roar is quieted. Dancing on the point of their fangs. Scratching against the bristle of their tongue. Nothing is as loud as I thought it was.

Before the first bite. And after the last.

Where all our prisons have names. And all our cages have faces.

Lovers we tried to keep and the friends we ended up with.