Kitten

It's all over - but let me preen
primed on misguided pride,
demure to the defunct or the devastation
of reflexive derision and damning words
whispered, muttered to a mirror
surreptitiously sowing some euphemism for a eulogy -
let it be mine -
sling this dim doggerel dirge for life:

Never really knew her,
but she was a dove.

Never judged him,
everybody's friend,
looked like death.

He loved her to the limit
and stopped there -
she was the limit -
and it all broke down,
stranded at a lonely rest stop in the desert
and no one ever f****** came back
(not in a way you'd recognize).

They were uneasy around mirrors,
couldn't tell what they saw,
not with the slow breeze of a hand
fishing for sanity in a dark place,
tickling the hairs on the backs of their necks -
it was the cold grip of the limit -
and, though she'd never left,
she felt it fit to announce that she'd returned
as white feathers and thin blood dripped from her chin,
rested on his chest.