Sometimes
My mouth waters
Pavlov
Chasing that wolf howling
Wishing this dog were not quite so evolved
Why should I chase a stick when I can run free in the wood
Drawing near to hilltops in the moons shine
But I want for it and my sniff on the trail
Makes my senses bristle
My tail rise
Beyond the trees the meadow calls
I will lay waiting as the wind rushes through the thick grass
And your smell is musk and sweetness.
