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I shave my coyote legs, ruining razor after razor with the workload until they are smooth. the pale skin underneath (almost human). the bathroom lined with fur. I rub SPF lotion into my thighs and it sticks between the pads of my paws. I’m a fucking mess again.

canine wrapped in an apron, rolling out dough with thyme and crushed pepper. broke woman in a dress dreaming of flesh and berries. big teeth soft tongue taste for blood. the skin of my legs rises and itches. scraps of my pelt choke the drain. I miss the ways I used to feel the earth. sage grass on a breeze, the memory of scents and senses.

nails on a laminate floor, magnetic letters on the fridge door. with my nose I build delicate words:

lace   tame   erase

feral woman        hairy legs

feral       woman steals         eggs

me                                   yolk and fur

blood fills        sinus

discarded bodies of mice and lizards sleep beneath the house. make little crunching sounds. salivate — your key turns in the lock and I hide what’s left of my expect things to be simple. you expect dinner. you expect me not to bite your hand, not to run if you leave the door open.

I wonder how you sleep at night

yip  yip

when you hear it

yip           yip yip

picture me tearing the legs off a mule deer

yip yip      yip
picture me: too much   

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