Lycanthropia
The hair crawls underneath her skin, fire ants
gnawing through layers of soft and yielding
flesh until her pores explode with coarse tufts
of blackened fur. Her shoulders engorging
into massive mounds of muscle and heft,
her tank top tears into a thousand shreds
of crimson cotton flakes, a blood spray left
like afterbirth on dormant soil. Her head
an agonized swell of bone tearing scalp,
the skin of her face stretching like latex
over the muzzle of expanded skull.
Her green eyes yellow, dilating from specks
into sharp slits, and suddenly the night
seems inviting, like something not to fight.
