After
a winter
Of
endless loveless fucking
The
queen had relaxed
Got
her own measure
And
like some alcoholic
In
pure denial
Thought
that just one more
Would
still her bitter longings
And
bring composure
And
whilst thus engaged
A
measure of balance was kept
But
after, boredom.
Poetry
:boredom ?
But
always fiercely alive
When
fully on heat
She
liked variety
Wolf
, within limits, obliged
But
as afters ? Sleep.
Instinct
kept him on
Desire
for death kept her on:
Deathly
couplings.
Neither
dared mention
An
old pelt, whitened with age
Used
as doormat now.
Blood
crack, tooth crack, tongue and gristle roll and loll, dragging in passion a
recumbent rag doll to another utter ravishment and besmirching. Mate hard,
sleep, all good. Stretch and kvetch, teeth nip and tease, you’d think the cold
would kill my fleas, take large bits, is spurred on by choice words, and
patterns of speech that went way above wolf’s head,. That felt good ,and that,
pumping as if there is no tomorrow. sleeps. Wakes with paws bound, ridden by
triumphal witch, shudders in prisoner’s ecstatic and whipped release. Good,
sleeps, wakes free, Hunts. full belly. sleeps
, drags witch into the snow by her elflocked and matted hair. Does the
nasty ,nastily .Is that all you got,
lover boy, she murmurs dreamily , stroking him afterwards. Wolf sulks and
sleeps else-where. Wakes abound again with riding queen once again astride..this
time, green eyes fixing his, ensuring he’s properly cowed. Waits till she
finishes. A satisfied mate. Quite good. She still wants to own him. Pointless
Pointless Pointless. Sleeps, wakes free. Hunts. Fucks, Sleeps. Hunts ,Ambushes
and attacks..then fucks .Sleeps: the
perfect cycle. Perfect ferocity and no wasted time for idle talk: such a human
pile of hhhoooowwwllll..no fuckinng word for it in your two legged abstract
bastard language,,,come here and makefuck fuckmate with me…fuck with me now,
good and first fuckmate… now. Good. Howlll..gooderer….howlll… goodest .Strange
wind smell. Strange faint-footfall
ALERT.
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