We snuck into the depths
of the newborn forest,
filled with blushing bulbs
and raw pines.
We tip toed over mossy stones,
but he slipped into the creek.
His hasty, alabaster paws became
damp and his eyebrows scultped
an abashed visage on his sweet
face.
My heart sunk into a
murky abyss, from colliding
into an iceberg of aversions.
I guided him across these
natural tiles with whistles,
clicks, and names.
After our voyage back,
I took a seat on the asphalt
and waited for him to
reach me from out of the wood.
He was reluctant and laggard,
but once he cracked the shell
he trotted over to me, at
eye level, and nudged my shoulder
with his blackened forehead.
His scent was plesant and earthy,
with a faint aura of putridity.
He parked his hindquarters
adjacent to my hips
and told me in breaths
how much he loves the sunset.