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It’s gnarly this animal smell I have.
Don’t worry,
my body is a gnarly factory.

I think
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.