Bag over my shoulder, I turn around once more at the threshold of the crevice: this cave was my last abode. Giving it up is hard, but I don't have time to feel sad: the tide of mist crawls at my
...
[+]
Dare we invite the dreamwolf in,
to jump through our chaste window,
carry us over the midnight snow
under a far moon?
Dare we—at this stage in the old game—dare
to feel the galloping charge
of hot breath, rough hair?
Outside our window the dreamwolf passes,
hungry, unconcerned with us.
to jump through our chaste window,
carry us over the midnight snow
under a far moon?
Dare we—at this stage in the old game—dare
to feel the galloping charge
of hot breath, rough hair?
Outside our window the dreamwolf passes,
hungry, unconcerned with us.
6