The damndest asset of a wolf speaks for itself
Benign its coating
For though he waits in suit
Tis it’s mouth, it has been spoken
By itself it’s surely true
Tis his mouth from which collard bonds are broken
Or perhaps fulfilled within revue
The fangs bear the brunt of a brundle from its victims,
failing to see the faded streaks of red in the maw,
bundled anxieties and the fear of the fall
the ruffled brindle of fur matted behind your fear in his eyes
But even the blind have ears to hear his lies
Do not let him close to you
Aye, a tongue the wolf does speak
Believe it true
The wastes of lives unlived flash in time unloved by the man they were sworn to and to adore
Portrait frames break
When fangs siphons from you love
And jaws open the floodgates as tears from memories betrayed meld with blood
His tongue was not made to be construed
He speaks in falsities all leading to the entrance where he raps, a door only you can unlatch
Holding hands all the way, alone
Either in palms, on faces against walls, against knives that fall and streak the paint
The pain you feel as he melts your meaning of a home
The tongue constricts
It squeezes
It blinds
And reveals only the truth
When hope is left behind
Beware the wolf
Do not seek him out
Do not ponder him and fret
He will find himself in your doubts
Beware Bisclavret
The teeth only sink till it’s finished
And leave scars in the wake of his kiss