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A Stranger in my arms
Brings dubious gifts;
Fruit too-sweet on the tongue
Concealing a rotten core
That the palate discovers
Disdainfully
After that
Anticipatory
Fatuous
First bite
Circling
Hunting
Perdurable circling and hunting
Assessing
Ferreting out
The Prey.
Estrus summons him
He answers
With a cunning purpose
Unsurpassed
Elsewhere in
Fulminate
Nature.
No Wolf
No Swan, he.
Only the disingenuous animus
Feeding upon sighs
And flashing eyes
Gorging on tender embraces
Coy glances
Toiling in the traces
Awaiting the moment
Of escape
Resuming
The Hunt
Afresh.
I wonder
If the Beast
Can grasp
That he too
Is Prey
For a creature
More rapacious
More sapient
Than he ?
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