sh**** Posted yesterday at 04:59 AM She knows how cute she is, I think. She has devilish eyes that say don't stop, and an angelic voice that could halt glaciers in their timeless journeys. The writings drew her in. Stop it, you're just stroking my ego. My writing? My dark, primal urges, simply typed up to get off my chest; alluring? I want that. I crave those things you write about. She says it outright. Its almost surprising. Almost, but I know these urges as a hunter. Why should prey not want to be made to feel like prey? And just like that, we're ***s. So I circle the pasture. Once should be enough. She sees a glimpse of me and instead of running...she..goads me, taunts me? Does she not know...does she think... Run. Get her now, by the neck. Why not? What are you doing that you cant? Go. Halfway across the pasture, fangs bearing, claws digging into the dirt beneath me. I give a tease. "Here I come, little lamb. Your pasture fence will be forgotten tonight, and you'll be my snack." The thought of the unlocked gate makes me shake with anticipation. She seems to not take seriously the threat I bring. She laughs it off, until I can see the glint of the barbed points in the fence, smell the pine of the post... And then she's in the barn, safe, warm. She calls out to me "Oh you were really coming for me, werent you? Not now..Maybe another night, wolf. Whats a short wait for one as ravenous as you?" A short wait, to a predator, is a life time. Watching. Waiting. Pacing. Meanwhile she struts along just inside the fence, showing her glistening coat, her cant-touch-me, teasing attitude..she's delicious, I just know it. I'm brought back to reality, to waiting. The metaphors are exactly that. Metaphors. To the writer and the reader they speak to they're exactly what they need to be, yet not quite enough. But to my sinister lamb they're the foreplay, the appetizer. She's the meal, warmed up by the words, ready to be devoured.
Recommended Posts