My Daemon

My Daemon is a trickster beast.

On good days he lays a warm weight against my back,
soft musky fox fur tickling my neck
breathing cedar smoke dreams into the shell of one ear.
He flits between shadows and light
letting me catch glimpses of his red coat as I toil through the day,
pressing soft nips at my heels when fear holds me back.

On bad days he is the dark scaled dragon clawing at my shoulders,
body clutched tight to my spine.
His jaws press against the back of my head,
neck coiled for the brittle snap that never comes.
His wings pressing into my sides as I shiver and sweat under the weight of him.
Riding me until I give in to the relief of darkness and exhaustion.
Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Poems, smoke dreams