There’s a werewolf in my bed,

Though the moon is not yet full.

He slipped in while I was sleeping,

Weary, spent, and wanting.


It’s been going on since Hallowe’en.

I don’t know if there will be an end.

I think he must love me.


Oh, but he snores all night,

Snores like a big old man.

Shapeshifter, he takes up all the space.

Yanks covers.

Growls – howls – if disturbed.


After the witching hour has passed,

I dare to chance a glance.

And see his mask has slipped.


Then, his skin is brighter than the moon.

His lips as pink as love.

He smells of caramel and kisses.


When he wakes, he calls me mummy.


Wants sweets for breakfast. A hug.