I’d always swing my leg, duck my head, 
and weight my balance sideways,

maneuvering through barriers
that I would have called an alarm system

if you hadn’t been a room 
I’d memorized.

I called the system but a kitten pretending
to be a lion.

You’d inhale, no, no,
the little cat is all I am,

but you’d never say it,
so I’d nestle in, 

and I’d exclaim, 
paint the sky with my hands,

wave your virtue 
like you were a dragon warrior.

You’d pat my head, and you’d shrug,
and I’d settle

into the space
your shoulders would thus create,

and I loved you
more than anyone.

first published in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine