Frank Corso: ‘Drifting Cat’

Drifting Cat

It is winter; as nightly predator
you wait outside in places out of sight.
The loitering meaning of your presence
is to win your confidence and fondness.

Milk is the decoy to follow me indoors.
Across my lap fall your inhibitions,
your tail floats like a scarf on my sofa.
I’m vigilant as your conspiracy sleeps.

There’s innocent play, yet restless tiger stirs.
Miniature chase drops to the sheepskin rug,
appreciating warmth of log embers,
curl into hues of black and orange fire.

Coquettish behaviour wakes your body,
scarf circles, grooming and owning my leg.
Velvet touching is mistaken for love
claiming an alibi when I stroke it.

In a hunting position, fangs and claws
are uncensored wilder parts of attraction.
Your arching agility consumes me,
aware of your feline habits for freedom.

Your itinerant’s eyes burn like green coal.
I can’t keep you. Comely art steals away.
You’re welcome to slip by at any time,
we share this understanding of admirers.

Frank Corso

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