There’s a spy in the house of love
cloaked by the specter of lost loves
              he thinks i can’t see him
 
but i’ve seen the skin stretched
transparent taut over swollen veins
throbbing with the heat of rage
 
i’ve glimpsed him in the moonlight
crouched wearily on trembling haunches
sniffing at the air
for the scent of a primal urge
 
There’s a spy in the house of love
he thinks i didn’t hear him
on a certain night
lapping at his wounds
             he thinks i didn’t see
 
the sweat glistened footsteps
that circled bedposts
territory marked
 
he steals lightly his way
watching her from unlit corners
waiting…
 
waiting for her
to
laugh a little louder
look a little prettier
smile a little easier

 — Katharine Hollister 

Winner, First Place, Eye On Life Poetry Contest 2010-2011