most girls only have room for one monster
The night I kissed you for the first time you bloomed
like a gunshot wound. Your teeth nicked sharp
against my lips, your eyes flicked sharper still: dark
forest, shadowed, shifting--all howl and claw and houses
perched on chicken feet. You feared the moon,
the thing in you that might get out while you clutched
around my hands and mouth, as if you ever showed
in mirrors anyway.