Wild Things Poem by Toni Atchison

Let's play like wild things
under the night,
where only we know who we are.
Where bits and pieces
of our civilized selves
crack and fall away in the dark.
Animals we are.
And becoming leads us to such joy-
of a dark, sweaty kind.
Where claws are barely sheathed,
and teeth nip at fragile skin.....
the blood loss is minimal,
but oh, so sensual.

7-23-08