He walks into the bedroom like he owns it. Says, “i want to be filthy with you.” takes me down hungry. Helps me shed my skin. Cafuné. He looked at me like I wasn’t something ruined. Filled my vicious parts with gold. Touched me with too much yearning. He said, “I’d burn for you.” how can he not see we’re the creators of the fire? He growled, “moan for me.” the wolf bit down and I howled into the night.

calloused: a field journal