After the kill

 

Yes, lioness, you fed early,

ate to fullness,

bounded with your lover,

 

tended his needs, retreated, 

alone

lay grooming, content in lair 

 

where cubs frolicked, tumbled

down your sleek sides,

nuzzled your nipples,

 

curled soft in your fur.

Like you, they ignored

distant hunt,

 

pretended you weren't called

by fierce night wind, 

by his scent.

 

Was it lair and young

that dulled your hunger,

muted longing,

 

erased need to join him,

take down shuddering gazelle,

feast, steamy, crimson,

 

sweet under crescent moon?

Stretch out long, lioness,

yawn, purr low

 

so other would-be lovers,

turn, search for you

lying ready in taller grass. 

                            Timothy Pilgrim