There’s a wolf in my closet.
Sometimes he’s a man.
He watches me through a crack in the door.
I can feel his eyes
Surveying my naked body.
He licks his lips,
Waits for me to leave,
Then he slips out,
Crouched low like hanging smoke
And molests my things.
I hear crashes in the bathroom
And run to find the culprit
But he sinks back into the shadows
And watches me.
I catch him out of the corner of my eye
Shifting in shards of light.
Sometimes he hides beneath my bed
And waits till I’m asleep.
Then he slides his fingers,
Light as a breeze,
Along my spine.
I worry one day he’ll rip it out.
If I haven’t been quiet enough.
My friends think I’m crazy,
But they won’t spend the night.
This is part 1 which has morphed into part 2 (more flash fiction, less poem). Photo is from the WordPress library.
