dekatzmeow

One month down, no offers. Morgaine passed away. My ankle's been in a brace for a work and still throbs. It's been a rough week. As Samhain arrives, I count the invitations to this year's Dumb Supper. Perhaps the only celebrating I will do on my favorite sabbath. The only mask I wear this year is a smile.

Goodbye to My Greasy Tomboy

I never understood your cries
mistaking them for loneliness.

Although named after the Warrior Queen
you became the bottom of the pride.

Skittish, you ran from your own shadow
never trusting my intentions.




You were so warm laying next to her
in the sun that you claimed as your own.
I cannot lose you without losing a piece of her.
You mirrored her body but
covered in royal silver.
It was impossible to tell you apart.
Now there is no way to mistake you.