He wore patchouli
marking his territory
before scampering off
into the wild

framed by a screen,
hind quarters
functionally fit

it was this gift
that lingered
awakened by a breeze
bringing mementos of eves seated
when hearts were rifled through by thieves

thereby believed
and time was faded
as golden suns dipped
from blackened skies

and a bitch in lascivious heat
cried the nigh’

Can You Smell It - Bo Strangles