Batman’s Backlash at Catwoman’s Come-On
When sirens die, they turn into your purr.
I scan the scene of the cat burglary
and find a thigh in violet naugahyde
protruding like a whisker from a door.
You wanted me to find you. Was it for
this kiss? Your tongue is plunging perjury
into my mouth. Just once, I let it lie,
and pet the suit, too smooth to call your fur.
But when you curl your whip around my wrist
to pull against your zipper’s silver smile,
I jerk it back, because our nakedness
is this. Your suit is you, as I am mine,
and making love, to us, will stay a chase.
So pet me one more time, my prey, then run.
