wolves like us
i.
There’s something in the blood—
both of basement beasts and of a little girl in the woods,
each in search of pleasure and poison in equal measures.
Thirsts perverse—inverse—rage and then ebb,
fingered as we are by the manners of the moon.
ii.
I am predator, alone—my devices all open spits and eternal cauldrons;
flesh warm, eagerly come but burned by the bussing,
what little meat left on the bone.
iii.
And still you pull up, red bonnet blowing in the wind,
drawn to me, not as prey but as peer;
twin raptor-captives, driven by the stars to moondance drinking and moondance driving.
iv.
If we did run for the hills, heed advice—
your claws are your best defense.
Grow them out, baby, and don’t forget behind the ears.
Lick our lips, and if the howl sounds like ‘whore’ then hunt away.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Andrew Daugherty (he/him) is a writer from Baltimore. He is the author of several novels centering pro wrestling, antifascism, and other subcultural Americana, as well as the poetry chapbook Under the Weather Girls. His work has been featured in JAKE, COLORS, Bullshit Lit, and elsewhere. He is the editor of Black Flask Magazine and an avid collector of other dubious credentials.
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