A coyote trots on a desert morning

A coyote trots on a desert morning, searching for a mouseWhen you whisper, “Do you feel good?”“Yes,” I lie, we could feel so much betterDrinking makes you giggly, you say, and sluttyAcross your chest, I reach to know you,the only way I know to askYou answer with a hand, hoveringbefore coming to rest on mineA coyote sits in the morning sun, staring into glass.

Hold me to your chest,I’ll take you from behind“Come here,” as a coyote slips into bedOpen fingers wide, your hand guides me to your throatRunning soft along your mawIt would be so easy.

“You’re warm,” you say, shifting against meI mumble into your neck, “I know.”

A coyote turns into the sun, jaws empty, and disappears behind the dunes.