I am a jaguar.
I yawn in your general direction.
All black. Sheen. Damp. Tricks and gleams and glow.
We are waiting for secrets that I already know.
I made a soft man, he was made out of snow.
But then he snarled at me with a false luck
and I realized. With him,
I shall not go.
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I am a jaguar who never roars.
I can growl, I can be super fast in the grass where we leave hunting tracks,
and sometimes, blossom-like soars.
I breathe, sometimes you hear it sometimes
YOU DON’T.
And you think you can always hear me.
I am a jaguar who burns in the night, slips into a dipping pool, sacred and bright. My favourite thing to eat is chocolate. My least favourite colour is shame.
Pulling out the earwax, one time it turned black. Now I can see, it’s a really cool blue. My practice is myself, and also you. I have been through bed bugs and dead bugs and red bugs, and being forced into glue gun glue.
Take this grass, you said. So I did.
I wrapped it round my waist in a rainbow siesta hoola skirt and then I fell asleep. And when I woke up you were there.
