Lone Wolf

New waters quench
his parched throat
filling inflated lungs
like an air balloon
floating through
blue bubbles of
oxygen and exhaling
spit and an exchange
of naïve tongues.

He pushes his tongue
down her throat
with a whip of
backlash and the stain
of a new lip stain
from another woman
and she stays silent
under the weight of his
chest moving back and forth
against salt and fresh water.

Salt is her lips
bitter with an aftertaste
of naïve tongue
chocking her esophagus
and blocking her screams
underneath murmured
hums and a distant memory
of him pecking her lips
gently with the song
of wolves howling
in the half-lit night.

Fresh is the new
pair of lips
he tastes to compare
from his former lover
with a mature tongue
to direct his greedy
motives intermixed
with call of
both women on dial.

New waters quench
this parched throat
but he dismisses
the gulp of saliva
with each intake of
fresh and salt.
He spits out words
with a distant howl
at the crescent moon.
No, let him be a lone wolf.


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