Sultry and strong, the ladies stood,
their eyes flowing around the room.
Daring anyone to look their way,
cloaked in power like their minx furs,
devilish smiles playing across their faces,
like drunken children playing hopscotch.
That scent of the wild hunt, of raw spice,
flowers and sex lingering in their corner,
ready to pounce.
In the center their prey grovels,
height unknown for the bent flesh.
What he’s done he knows not,
his brain cowers in his head,
afraid to come out and play.
Blood dances down his warrior’s body,
and with it his courage.
He growls, an unconscious decision,
reminiscent of battles gone by.
Wreathed in legends as ancient as her toothless grin,
the old one watches,
knowing the game and its outcome too well.
They play now, heady with their strength – the giving
and the taking, all determined by their whims.
Powerful women, watching, gauging,
moving subtly together with pre-timed strategy.
Their prey, his heart beat racing with both fear and desire