Open your doors, feral requests to return;
Home to your warmth and wheedling geste.
I knew you had set a banquet,
For your lonely self and the empty chair:
It that was once my throne and its shadow,
A faithful subject that always linger.
While you reigned, you reigned without my teases and cuddles.
I smelt it half way across this night,
For the aroma came seeking for me in the gutters.
Be warned, am now a wilting bouquet,
And flies had to replace bees.
I have lost all my manners; I growl, I can bite.
Come then, with chains and a whip: I am untamed.
Shackle me and haul me away from my vices to a brighter virtue.
Let me play at your feet under the table: it that used to be my kingdom.
And let me collect each bone dropped.
Let me lay by the shadow of my chair, in my cold cradle.
Let me lay in your whiff, as a feral yet your beloved
A poem by Tonny Wandella