FERAL

Feral

I've always been a hunter, I know.
I have my long and cruel claws prepared,
I have my fangs sharp and ready,
my muscles are so tensed that hurt.
I can smell his scent, trace it in the air.
I'm not hunting a small hunt piece.
Now I'm going for the big, big, prize,
I am tired to follow faddy bambies;
today, I am going for his grandfather:
the mythical long horns reindeer.
His perfume is putting me so wild,
their hooves leave light traces
and I chase him without thinking.
Maybe I'm chasing him in vain;
I guess, he may never be all mine…
But the hunt excites me so much:
to see him hesitate between two fords.
the way that he looks back, exhausted.
Sometimes he tilts his awesome head,
and the dew shine like jewels in his antlers.
His cinnamon fur is lustrous and sweaty,
I caught his scent, breathing deeply.
When he is close to me, I can’t breathe,
my stomach twists, my heart is jumping,
he is a real alpha male, and a great player.
What if he is guiding me to his own trap?
What if I fall in the pit of his wet eyes?
What if I were caught in the net of his parley?
I shudder... but again and again I go back,
to the mad pursuit, the most wild and exciting.