How did she procure
that bunny-fur skirt?
Snatched it right off the rack
as my own fingers closed
on the hanger,
biting the waistband gently,
nails toothing at the belt.

Her hands were faster,
and now it feels like years.
She likely wears it
bounding swift as a snowshoe
through the drifts,
soft ears elongated
pink nose fighting off frost
and velvety tail
burgeoning on her backside
still hidden beneath the pale hide.

Unshaven side inward,
she jumps further when warm
and her whiskers collect
frost as snow falls.
I wish her well, after all.
Relieved of my longing
I can probe the next day’s
desire for heat
and send out my hunter
to bring me back a rabbit’s foot.