Man and Beast
He may rise with the dawn, but he is not the sunlight.
His eyes may shine, but they do not glitter.
His lips may be soft, but his kisses are hungry,
like his hands. Though, his touch is gentle.
That is until he touches there,
where 8,000 nerve endings are ready to explode,
and several thousand more are begging for attention behind soft, lush curtains.
He is no prince,
no knight in shining armor,
He is no hero.
He is both man and beast,
dominant and wild.
That is until you get him under the influence of her moon, and he is calmed.
He is helpless,
How could he not be?
She is the enchantress of his dreams
and the keeper of keys to the only cage that can keep him at bay.
Until she is ready to release him again,
to let him roam free,
to let him bite, claw, and catch,
to let him feed and howl for her under her intoxicating light.
And when the beast leaves a mark on his mistress,
she becomes a creature like him.
Feral, and wild,
only tameable under His command.
To be one with his mistress. . .
That is his true nature.
About the Creator
Poet and classical literature aficionado. Lover of the arts. Creator of short stories, poems, and articles. Hostess of The SchellingtonGrin Podcast.
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