Can I change
from man to beast
in a breath?
From sweet
gentleness of the dove,
to the cold
brutal death of the shrike?

In a moment of wonder
at the angels breath of your touch
I tuck my head to your breast,
moan, and feel you comfort me
in soft gossamer.

And yet.

At the simple
mention of a name,
his name,
I shed my softness
for the hard dark quills of the raptor.
Gone is the soft loving whisper
reserved for my angel.
My voice, now a blood-chilling scream
sends shivers down your spine.

My talons,
carved curved alabaster,
transform my touch
from baby-soft to death.

I am your dove,
touch me softly and feel my warmth.

I am the raptor,
fast and furious;
when I hear you
speak his name.
My blood is green,
my vision red
darkness is my shadow,
and I am death.