E: Tiger

Tiger

You would not be called a Tiger. To
you this was a child's name, a chuck
on the shoulder; like sport, or scudder,

or chief; something heard at a baseball
game, not whispered in bed. You would
not be my cub; but I was expressing

something deep and red, something
bigger than it's frame, the coiled, copper
taste of flame and the claws, like a jungle

cheshire cat, all dirty smiles; seamless
orange and black woven from sex;
ravenous eyes and deadly painted paws.

I meant something that slips from its
skin in the dark and wears only the night.
You are a tiger and your kiss is a bite.