Werewolf

In anger you clench your fist -
not driven by violence
but in desperation of trying to hold on
to the last thread of a clear mind.

You clench your jaw
and swallow hard
words that would swing the first blow.

A clean slice through skin
then flesh
and bone
to the fuel of your abhorrence.

Blood pulsates,
struggles against the grasp,
claws tighter than eagle talons,
wrapped around this violence,
burning through your fingertips.

Constrict, dilate - blackened windows -
your soul escapes without witness.

The beating of your chest
left in the palm of my hand,
dwindling like the flames of a waxless candle.
Equally as soft, you slump to the floor
like a puppy knocked down in the street.