ten fingers, ten toes.
he thought it might be a problem,
the lion nibbling at his feet.
well, he thought, I’ve got two of them,
one enough more to share.
wait, that fur is black leopard print
and not toes but fingers in his mouth.
should I be worried, he worried to himself.
then said the leopard, no frets, no strings,
I just like your taste and
nothing more to doubt than just
my affection, lingering
on an eager tongue.
you know perfectly well, this is
one of your fondest dreams,
being loved by a love that could
effortlessly eat you right on up,
if she wanted to.
you’re right, he said.