Pursuit - Sylvia Plath
I hurl my heart to halt his pace, to quench his thirst I squander blood, he eats, and still his need seeks food, compels a total sacrifice. His voice waylays me, spells a trance, the gutted forest falls to ash, appalled by secret want, I rush, from such assault of radiance. Entering the tower of my fears, I shut my doors on that dark guilt, I bolt the door, each door I bolt. Blood quickens, going in my ears. The panther's tread is on the stairs, coming up and up the stairs.
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