poetry

4/25 The Dance

I love your smell
said Lion
to Gazelle
as she ran her nose along his neck.
Delectably sweet,
good enough to eat
in fact, I’ll try a bite.
So, don’t put up a fight.

His skin quivered and quaked
as her breath danced,
and though he smelled death
he stood completely entranced.
And her paw on his skin
served to sedate him
he was frozen under her glance.

But with a kick and a shake
he broke loose from her spell,
and ran ,like the hounds from hell
Were nipping at his heels.
A rustle in the grass,
Free at last,
A fleeting midday meal.

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