It’s gnarly this animal smell I have.
my body is a gnarly factory.
you are safe in there,
fur and whiskers, paws and a cobweb
of blood warping my body for a bit.
I set down my claw-cup. This is your cabin,
you mark it like a cat. Inside my belly
your purr gains frequency –
at night the entire bed grunts with your
hooves and maw warmth. Or
you feel like a spider I’m not afraid of.
Soft. Made of cloth,
not math. And after an evening
of gathering primrose & burdock,
I chew leaves to make you an internal bath.
Everywhere is the smell of feral
wolf; the underneaths of a dog tail.
Wait – that’s me I’m smelling.