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A waxing gibbous moon
warns me of what is due.
A werewolf expected soon.
It carries my mood
out to the wild places.
It is hungry and hair raising,
howls and paces
the length of this room.
How can it rest
when the limbs need to stretch,
a belly full of fire
lust and desire
to roam.
Vision sharp focused.
Hears the pin falling.
Lunar light bathed,
the far side is calling.
It wants no companion,
Lone is it’s name.
Each cycle it stalks here,
alive in my brain.

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