Those
thick thighs, her prized
loins, eager and
moist.

That look, those eyes,
which draw your soul
to them.

Two full breasts,
spacious land,
the highest peaks of the highest
mountains.

Spread-eagled mistress
on the couch.
Or is it a crouch?

Eyes gleaming like torches
in the moonlight
as red as fresh blood.

Or as red as your blood?

Mistress whimpers for you,
whines for that
touch.

You drug.

Or you drone?

Is she lover, or
is she Queen?

Nah, you think,
as you give in
to your desires,
so divine!

Her body–she has you
wraps around you,
she is so supine–even lupine.

And then you realize
that the hunter loves
its prey.

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