Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

The black cat crossed the empty street
jumped on the hood of my sensible sedan
to watch

leapt off and eased into the space
where we leaned
implausibly entwined
against your pretty little two-seater
 
(as it takes nothing more than a smile and a damn sexy car
to create forbidden romance)
 
equal parts lust
joy
and sheer incredulity –
 

old enough to put this thing called love on the shelf
 
old enough to put this thing called love right back where it belongs –

here –
 
on a cool autumn night
fingers cold until they make their way
under layers
the what you say you’ll do for me
aloft in a steam cloud of breath
the what I agree you can do
spoken in hip sway and sighs
the common language

here –
 
on the street,
the destiny of unions
outside of home, hearth.
 
 
The cat wants a piece of this tryst
drawn to figures consumed
love blooming beneath night sky’s camera obscura
pinpricks of star light
street lights
and the gibbous moon’s thin crescent shadow.
 
 
Long before the black cat got a woman killed for witchcraft
it was revered, seen as spiritual and earthy
holding the mystery of a human soul returning to the physical world
our higher self sent back to accompany us
on a journey requiring intuition, connection
the deep power that lies within.
 
 
Long before love was a swipe right
it was dark, curious, feline in its wiles,
weaving itself in figure eights
through our legs
lips
pulsing hearts
an infinity circle
leaving
to return again
forever leaving
returning.
 
 
Before I could pull myself out of your arms,
the cat meandered off
showing us the way
home
without glancing back.