The Tigress Book

I can’t read that book anymore.
The pages burn and the words cry
As if ash on ice and freezing shore
With nowhere to land and die.
 
Hiding beneath the dust,
A tigress, void of nature’s laws,
Snarling and starved of lust.
Ready for the next clawing clash of jaws.
 
She is always hungry.
Yet, I don’t know that she can starve.
If I unsheathe that story,
My heart – her claws – would carve.
 
The sun is not a flower
When darkness dooms the sky.
No passion grows where light cowers
And memories go to die.
 
The spine growls every night.
Each crease is a tooth in that chasm.
That chasm of a mouth that clamps shut tight
Upon the weak with cruel enthusiasm.
 
It must be time, time to calm the beast.
I’ll read the book with mirrored glove
And take the tigress to her feast
So that I can regain love.