Whelp

who knew
that after two years
i’d still be the same height?

i did

boy things,
awkwardly, in
tight man skins.

forgetting to stretch tendons

i shrugged my pelt in early spring
to coincide with walks
and forests and sticks and small things
that don’t fit into summer,
like a gentleman’s suit

like hunting deer (instead of love)
which is no easier.
i kiss them with my teeth and their antlers are brittle with fear.
i need their faces and fur to be a man again next year.

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