Words Fall Short

To try to describe this sleeping beast.
Words fall short.
The proud, reigning king of the jungle
transformed into the docile, affectionate lap cat
with just a gentle stroking.
Listen to the purring.
The deep, even breathing.

Fingers dance over hard, powerful flesh
as it rises and falls.
Arching and maneuvering to absorb more.
Each stroke brings it closer.
Every sigh content.
What a rush
knowing it could happen at any moment.
The lion could return.
The beast could rear its head.

The winged beast leads to the sword
sharp as the tongue possessed.
Finger it tenderly to smooth the edge
and cool the fire within which it was forged.

Another breath
the victim hitches in its own.
Confidence and hesitancy become one.
Run the fingers through the proud mane
so soft and tempting.
It rustles beneath the touch.
Scarred ears twitch in pleasure.
The neck swivels
and this exotic creature moves closer.
Magnetic and hypnotic.

The fingers stop.
The victim stares in fascination, lost.
Smell of a predator and scent of plant life
combine to intoxicate.
Eyes crack open and the beast shakes its mane out.
Such a great gaze settles
the possessors does not waver.
Not a shred of doubt lies within.

One moment.
Two.
Sharp senses collect the rapid heartbeat of prey.
A paw, quick as lightening, extends.
The victim is devoured before emotion can register.
Excitement .
The beast wanders off in search of the next doe.
It leaves the scraps for the hyenas.
Words will forever fall short.

-EpitomeOfOdd.