FUR AND STEAM
the curl of your mustache
the glint in your eye
we can't stand here forever
for one of us must die
the sepia sky
filled with airships and chance
while we range below decks
in our epic dance
twixt you, lunatic doctor
and me, merchant marine
we range inside the engine
this infernal machine
behind your goggles
do I sense some doubt
as the wolf deep inside me
rages to come out
but the trickery’s on me
how could I have known
you’re exploding in fur
match my flesh, match my bone
two werewolves locked
as the gears above clank
your bowler hat topples
as you dive for my flank
and I parry with claws
as your eyes start to gleam
our endless battle
in this engine of steam
And it's awesome and I love it!
But as a result I was afflicted with a muse, and found myself writing a companion/response to it. (Which kind of ate my brain for several days.) Same characters and situation, different interpretation:
THE STEAM OF YOUR BREATH, THE FUR AT YOUR COLLAR
You have followed my trail, tracked me down, snuck onboard
my magnificent ship of the air.
In response to my schemes you are bound and determined
to throw your best wrench in the gears.
It's a weary long road you have hunted me down
to at last beard the beast in its lair.
Though my plans run like clockwork, you've fooled me somehow.
Don't you find that a little bit queer?
You're a stalwart young sailor: strong, handsome, brave, true.
You've by my estimation no faults.
But your heart bears a shadow that nobody knows--
or at least, that's devoutly your hope.
You can sense I'm a danger, and are drawn to confront
me, wherefore we engage in this waltz.
Call me doctor: I'll cure you of lonely despair,
for I know what you are, lycanthrope.
Midst the sky-engines' howl, you insist that we spar.
Could it be you still think me your foe?
You battle with fury: to garner an edge,
with a roar you unleash your fell curse.
You seem quite in earnest. Well, I too can play;
if I must, fur and fang I will grow.
Are you shocked to discover we both know the wolf?
Yes, we share in this bestial thirst.
Now you grapple and struggle, tooth and claw, 'gainst your double
and the feelings you dare not express.
When you realize my motives, all I've done for your notice...
Oh, dear boy, how I hope you're impressed!
(You guys, writing formal poetry with strict meter and rhyme is HARD. Free verse comes much faster and easier for me.)