Prowling
by Sam Vaknin

The little things we do together
to give up life.
The percolating coffee,
your aromatic breath,
the dream that glues
your eyelids to my cheek.
We both relent relentlessly.
Your hair flows to its end,
a natural cascade,
a velvet avalanche
buries my hands.
In motion paralyzed,
we prowl each other's
hunting grounds.
Day breaks, our backs
turned to the light
in dark refusal.

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