I love this description of dog love--both the dog's love for his bone (or, in the case of my dogs, for any food, including bones or living rodents) and his love for his person. To call these forms of love erotic and platonic might be okay, but I think it makes too much of a distinction between them...
by Angela Narciso Torres
Sometimes I love you
the way my dog loves
his all-beef chew bone,
worrying the knuckled
corners from every angle,
mandibles working
like pistons. His eyes glaze
over with a faraway look
that says he won’t quit
till he reaches the soft
marrow. His paws prop
the bone upright,
it slips—he can’t clutch it
tight enough, bite hard
enough. A dog’s paws
weren’t meant for gripping.
And sometimes I love you
the way my dog brushes
his flank nonchalant
against my legs, then flops
on the floor beside me
while I read or watch TV.
His heft warms.
One of us is hungry,
the other needs
to pee. But we sit,
content as wildflowers.
Minutes pass. Hours.
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