Waits

Ragged breath horny, wearing night like a comfortable old suit and sitting statue, cold wet waiting in bushes, facing the warm light from patio doors. the relationship watched and watcher, could it be more, if only she knew. Would she smile with soft eyes and slide off the oversized t-shirt she wears most nights, like it plays in the minds favourite mental re-run? Would she scream? Cry? Not for long. A heavy clawed weight hangs reassuring your hands, hammers rubber grip slipply with dew.