Cat whiskers,
up close to her,
deep face
to look into—
the glance,
that runs down
the spine—
such straight
two-way love
pure as air
at dawn.

There comes
a stealthy rub
of his face
against hers—twice.
She picks him up
from the desk,
holds him against
her neck
and answers
with two strokes
of her own gentle hand,
over those whiskers,
blue eyes,
brown ears
and supple

With a soft wail,
her friend
from Siam
takes his leave.

–Allan Cox