A pillow princess, soft, aware,
her sigh a spell, her breath a prayer.
Emerald eyes, half-closed, half-known,
a feline grace that is her throne.
She blooms by touch, by whispered plea,
a lover’s gift, ecstasy.
Silken threads of longing bind,
a vow half-spoken, left behind.
Beneath the jest, a spirit kind,
playful, daring, yet refined.
In shadows deep her fire grows,
a purring secret no one knows.
Respect her still, with tender hand,
with grace that few can understand.
For yielding too is sovereign art,
a gift of trust, a sovereign heart.
For we are cats—wild, yet tamed,
our longings caged, yet never shamed.
A touch received, a gaze that stays
the princess reigns in softer ways.
And pardon—yes, I am a man.
I learned to cherish all I can:
to honor giving, fierce, forgiving,
by learning well the art of receiving.