# Gay Wolves Fucking

Author: vowels
Tags: Human, M/M, Nature, Poem, Poetry, Relationships, Wolf, free verse

To think I have thumbs, four  
extra digits upon each hand.  
So much skin. Shoes stamp  
stray leaves, scale sidewalks  
where once was green, flatten  
trails through the underbrush.  
I search for stories outside  
of building levels, hunting  
for humanity in the clawed.  
Each sole: too sensitive to adjoin  
this aging earth, rough, scarred  
like a palm blessed with many life-  
lines. I watch them as I walk,  
wondering when my legs will cease  
their steady intervals like a wind-  
beaten branch against a window,  
eying its grasping shadow  
the way we watch each other up  
and down streets, saying "excuse me"  
or not, brushing past in crowds  
tight as a swarm of wildebeests.  
But we are no longer animals.  
Your lines press mine in a shake,  
split-second as a sting.  
We'll know each other by grip,  
curve of our lips, the depth  
of a laugh, sincerity of goodbye.  
And I may explain life  
as a military brat, where in town  
to order the best moo goo gai pan,  
my name, how long ago I outgrew  
counting age with these hands.  
May risk twisting a cute girl  
lilting by into our conversation,  
deciphering the orientation  
of your response; scrambling mine.  
To you I am at face value. Human.  
Even as these hands find home  
along the row asdfghjkl;'  
inhabit, my mind wandering,  
wondering about a new skin, a new  
way to touch, discovering  
its illicitness like the curves  
and imperfections of first love.  
To think myself other than human.  
I am typing with these hands:  
a vignette about two wolves,  
same sex, almost human, fucking  
as we do, all fur and fang and paw,  
instinct swirling with their breaths,  
with every thrust, the eventual tie,  
all the nature I could want  
burgeoning as fast as these fingers,  
these thumbs, can fly.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/pnGJq7jm
Part of the series Poems
Next: https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1350056-admission.md