This lion could rip my face off, and the backs of his ears are softer than pure snow. This lion could snap my skull, and he nuzzles cubs gently, playfully. This lion could slurp my intestines, and his tail flicks back and forth. This lion could slash out my eyeballs, and he smiles without my admission, so as I drown here at the bottom of my dreams, why does this lion sit with me? He never looks my way; he never says my name. And although I’ve cowered beyond the heat of stars, he refuses to leave.