The cat

I like the gleam of your eyes, your silky peeling.  To cherish you, if you want it. To hear you hum. To go to the front of your curiosity. To feel your heat. to skim your softness. Companion of my lonelinesses. To look at you to feel to beat my heart. To trust, the high tail, never not judging my faults. Wound into a ball, showing only one truth. That of a certain brittleness. I like your sensitivity. You it proud recluse and proud. You it funambulist with the multiple faces. You fail yourself sometimes on other shores. They have the taste of blood. Flesh between the teeth. Machine to kill. With the sharpened claws. Your eyes shine of cruelty. How can you thus rook me? You, in whom I placed my confidence. You, who received all my confidences. I lie myself. I know your eyes, your bad glance. You never cheated. I let myself embark. To forget your shares of shades and lights. So that you remainders close to me, raising my prayers. Those to remain my friend. The last to accept my life. Ridge of fear and blacknesses. Ridges tops and bottom. Who has as a confessor a cat.