Tom Cat.

I would be happy to know you.

But I grow weary.

Why cannot I concentrate you, the two features I desire.

I miss you. The truth of the world, like a tide slowing moving in, robs me of the lie of you.

I wouldn't care for anything. I would not care for for the world that you alone could make me see.

The night reeks of your scent.

And like a hungry cat that stalks, who slicks his hunger with tiny birds and sad little rodents, I seek you.

The honesty of my depravities are all the truth that I have.