the watcher in the night

sometimes her arms bend back
when she's lit like northern lights
or a dying cigarette
catapulted into the dark.

with tiny hammers readied
we bite the bullet
and it gives her chills
or something analogous.

too far ahead to see
what's coming next:
the watcher in the night
primed for blood and sex.

lycaon's breed has waited
she squirms in her chair
elated by the prospect
of being devoured and ravaged.