16161/1331/87 of 365 (28 March 2014): The Cat Keeps to Herself (photo 2 of 2) Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness. My lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says the cat making on your chest his gesture of drawing milk from his mother’s forgotten breasts. Let us walk in the woods, says the cat. I’ll teach you to read the tabloid of scents, to fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to hunt. Now I lay this plump warm mouse on your mat. You feed me, I try to feed you, we are friends, says the cat, although I am more equal than you. Can you leap twenty times the height of your body? Can you run up and down trees? Jump between roofs? Let us rub our bodies together and talk of touch. My emotions are pure as salt crystals and as hard. My lusts glow like my eyes. I sing to you in the mornings walking round and round your bed and into your face. Come I will teach you to dance as naturally as falling asleep and waking and stretching long, long. I speak greed with my paws and fear with my whiskers. Envy lashes my tail. Love speaks me entire, a word of fur. I will teach you to be still as an egg and to slip like the ghost of wind through the grass. The Cat’s Song, by Marge Piercy The gray cat, Reload, enjoying the lone beam of evening sunshine on her back. This cat has lived inside here for many years now, but is still closer to feral than to friendly, having never once sat in my lap. Photographs by Jinn; Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 Prints of my work are for sale at reasonable prices (custom order) or you can buy pre-made pieces or order custom pieces on Etsy: https://etsy/shop/TranceMission
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 10:20:17 +0000
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