A poem without a title
Eyes closed, she hears him approach.
Feels his gaze, as eyes fall upon prey.
Smelling his scent, as he moves almost silently.
Unable to prevent it, a smile forms at the corners.
Ever so slightly, she moves.
Anticipation.
He does this.
Makes her body perform under his spell.
A puppeteer. A magician.
Sounds. Smell. The charge in the air between.
That’s all there is.
Breathing. Feeling. Thoughts.
Calm. Methodical. Composed.
Safe.
Exposed.
Her soul opens to him, as do her legs.
And he sinks in, as though he belonged there all along.
Tears fall softly, as he takes what’s his.
And fills the empty spaces.
What is this?
Who are you?
Where have you been?
~Bunnie~
Original challenge from TreasureMe:
https://thecage.co/blog/userblog.php?blog_id=28722
