Waking the Beast

Every night since our wedding, we lay
on opposite sides of the bed, backs to each other.
This is after his heavy weight sinks me
into the mattress and my silence grates over
his throaty growls. This is when I dream about the first
transformation. The look on his face as he realizes
he is damned. His fingers not yet turned to claws,
his teeth to fangs and fur rippling everywhere.
The second before all that. When the witch judges him
wanting. I hold my hand between my thighs, clench
down as I imagine his jaw go slack, his cheek muscles soften,
his blue eyes widen in horror. I relish his moment
of helplessness, replay it over and over
until I shake in my own pleasure.