I hunger in silent, prowling cravings for your mouth, your voice
In this ancient night of moonless shadow dreams
I hunger for your skin, hot and sleek and dark.
No sound distracts my cravings, no intruder obstructs my quest.
Like a pacing, hungering wolf,
Only in devouring you will I be sated,
Released from this ache of the moon-empty hunting night.

Nancy Hill © August 2001

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