Beneath my bed,
dark shadows turn to liquefied silk,
To flow into a feline form.
I search out her eyes.
Eyes which I know are closed against my gaze. I tap on the bed.
A glimpse of radiant green and gold flash and claws, sharp, pluck at the carpet.
With a whisper, I beckon a response.
Subtle, soft purls roll out from under the bed. Blackness unfolds, stretches in isolation. To form a sleek velvet puddle that touches my hand.
Claws retracted. I feel only soft fur and pad.
Paw to hand.
*Link Back to Jingles Thursday Poets’ Rally