Worlds Away

what the nomad brought home

Heat

Night air sticky under full-moon haze,
and she’s in heat.
She feels it coming,
writhes and thrashes in her bed —
No need to prowl for meat tonight,
Her victim
          will crawl
                     to her.

Her instincts serve her well;
There’s a stirring just outside
and heavy lids metamorphose into bedroom eyes
when she poises her regal body to investigate.
She opens up enough to see who’s stumbled to her den,
But she’s measured in her movements —
the stumbling are wounded,
and a wounded catch so fresh with fear, is liable to run.

Ahhhh, he’s just a boy
who’s come to her
so blissfully aware that she intends
to tear at his body
       — deep —
to leave him trembling
               — hard —
and watch him gasping
                              — gone.

Well, here’s to an easy hunt.

Teeth bared as faces meet and heads rear back,
Exposing necks as each inhales the other’s scent.
A few seconds of pawing,
Slinking circles one around the other,
Licking, biting
Go for the neck, and you have the kill.

He’s down.

October 17, 2009 Posted by | Poetry, Sex, Woman | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments