War

I kiss the little boundaries on the edges of your softened ends.

Each line is like a poem in the motion of a song.

You sing sweetly of the soft caresses, and wash anew in the

bath of love that waves across your weakened resolve.

Then that turn that opens up the secret places of the little spots

that you hide so dear to prying eyes.

Only I can touch them now, those private places where none else

dare to tread in fear of retribution.

We take and give in equal measure, each seeking to fulfill his own.

There is nothing private in the hidden wars between.

You are my cat.