My tigress, dress my wounds to kingdom come.
Your acid tongue will cauterise my fear,
in feline grace, your arrogance is pure
and punctures me with poise, my perfect balm.
When battle beckons, boisterous and brash,
its brazen violence raucous in the night,
your rippling flanks betray tormented ire,
by tooth and claw you savage taunting foes
until the balance saturates our world
and wolves lay down upon a bed of wool.
My tigress, breathing clouds of fire and dreams,
protecting me with sultry serenades.
Then, forest shrinks into the blooming dawn;
my eyes are wide, my passions fired in awe.
As virgin light strips weapons from your form,
I see in you the glory of the storm.
Though joined in human bondage, we are free
and raw as nature's call would have us be.
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