Old Tom and the Tiger’s Delight!

(NOT! A nursery sonnet)

That slow and rhythmic grazing of her nails,
That squeeze and then release with every breath.
That craft that speaks in every sweet assail,
That arcane smile that lulls the coming death.

In tongues that seek to rapture sudden fates,
In eyes that burn like jungles’ passing night,
In slow engage of wonders’ open gates,
In every moment caught ‘til comes first light.

She knows to tease exactly to the edge.
She knows exactly how that edge must feel.
She smiles, his tongue released in nightly pledge.
She cannot hope to keep this pledge concealed.

“Oh, burning tiger! Burning, Burning BRIGHT!
OH! TIGER QUEEN!” the pledge of her delight!