Here I be an impish sprite
that speaks with impish speech
biting hard a lion's tail
I clamp fast with my teeth;
hear now the old lion's roar,
the tragedy in poems
while I am whipped about
in the thought lairs of his home.
In his deepest jungle breath
he growls some simple lines
seducing young gazelles
with love bones wrapped in rhyme;
then suddenly he pounces
with a skillful lover's art
enclosing the distance,
leaping chasms to their heart.
I have witnessed feral pleasure
known no greater pain
in the death grip of a lion's lust
mangling my brain.
Be wary sweet young antelope
don't stray far from the pack
starved are the grey old lions
when their heads dismount the rack.
Written by 'Pirate Girl' Muse to:
Captain Cur's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Feral Pleasure by Captain Cur )
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