Train Girl & The Wolves

Train Girl and the Wolves

Wolves howl
and she
turns her head -
knowing of their spots
and the moles that lie
between shoulder blades,
sore,
or not.

He howls when she
gets him off
collared in panties
white, stained in the crotch -
she chuckles
wolves have that effect
(particularly those so proud of their dens).

He barks back at a full moon,
one that rose the night she slept with chocolate
pillow mints
and the grin of a brindle
too skinny
for her liking.

The way he barks,
twisted in an evil snare -
he chuckles when she groans
and she knows he’ll lift his leg
watching from the mirror
winking back inside.

He’d howl at a prairie dog,
so long to catch a buzz
some wolves grow up with snouts
a tad too long
and she’ll look away
pretending not to notice.

Wolves, howling
under a moon
tight to pizza tray
she sighs - how many pieces would he dare to eat?
Some wolves are thick on greed
and who is she
to be his prey?

He’d have the nerve to tell her how to spit
she likes it
thick,
from barrels in her neck
and she laughs -
howling back, coyote girl
pissing on his grin
(no need for her go back).

He whimpers,
tail tucked between the thighs
she wishes on a shining star to view of his delight
(it’s the baby wolves who make her shake
her head in guilt and lies).

He has no reason to whimper
but does
she shakes her chestnut mop -
too late to take a ride with her
(he’d be better off
with wolves who squander rations)
wasting time.

And he likes her vines,
soaked of birthright due
she wonders how he howls -
“Do you have friends now on the side?”
It’s always odd to get up without goodbye.

Where wolves howl -
under starry skies.