He moves on all fours,
malevolence igniting fervour,
delicious in his maleness,
unrelenting in his pursuit.
He circles me,
bellowing his intent,
stomping out boundaries;
ominous warnings fired at other males.
He savours each battle,
bathes in their defeat,
worthy of each bloodied form;
deserving of the heart he already possesses.
He captures the sweetness,
conquers with calloused fingers and tender persuasion,
whispering words, beautiful and rapturous.
Fracturing me to a kneel.
He makes me feel extraordinarily female,
delicate and tiny,
I hide among sinew, distended veins
and protective menace.
He’s unfolding before me,
gentleness seeping from his soul, cleansing; atoning,
this is what makes him beautiful.
He’s vulnerable; like me, he’s caught by the heart.
He’s earned the right,
Don’t go into battle, you WILL lose,
for we are armed….we are armed with love.