He is a man in fact , a factual man in fact
But in fact more than man, and more natural
He is a predator, sometimes ****** endeavourer
Jumping as a feather stead upon my weathered bed
Lead at the head but it's heavier
A best of a beast, in his chest at least
A lion's heart beats, and with mine at his feet
He is deadlier

Mane across his back, mainly manly, manly knack
And a pride to admire any crazy track
Mired by those paws or clawed back
Lion's share of the hair and a siren's glare
Its enough to ensnare any to come back
To lie in the den and unpack

A purr that can stir  dwelling spell in gazelles
A roar that could ensure his reign is obtained on every plain
If called for
His face is made heeding, and bleeding the sun
His legs win a race never needed to be run
Already won
Prowl and it's done

If he who rides the tiger finds it difficult to dismount
Than he who rides the lion will feel him sure surmount
No doubt, for nobility is paramount
Alpha is better beyond count, couched in whim
And he reigns as King of the jungle I grew for him
King of all that's funnelled through to him
King of all that humbles me and truly sings

And so
Clearly success best rests in
Being a lioness, not left guessing lionless
A carnivorous, blitherous, tyrant's guest
In fact I am a woman, a natural woman in fact
And factually I am a woman intact
Yet in fact a woman distracted on a lion obsessed tract
Where a leonine mess is lacked
And a lion-like chests interact

Falling*

sprawled and appalling
on my face,
drooling disgrace, galling

Falling

in love and above, tall in
a flood of enough
smoothening rough, or mauling

Falling

down a dire spiral calling
tired warnings
fired down and bawling

Falling

on deaf ears boring when sure in
death near and above all, or fawning


Falling

in line and recalling
confines and rules in forming
Decisions, once and for all


Falling

The wayside supporting
weight and tired eyes, squalling


*But the feeling of falling is deceiving when believing that the subject moves around the ground
Which is dawning the befallen
When in feeling fallen I feel more than
I am moving but that the world has proven
That I am stuck while it rushes up
And I cannot catch up or take much
Protection from the projected connection
Of the rocky bottom on my rocked cheek
The breath inside me left to hide in a better guest
For life's essential and potentials
Falling to me is not easy humiliation, or needy contemplation,
Only lungs devoid from the impact deployed
And the same dirt, on my tongue and gums, curt
My eyes, unhurt, can never avoid

What,
am I doing?
What am I
Doing?

Who am I being?
Who am I

Being?


Where am I going?
Going?

Who am I fleeing?


Where are you going?
What am I doing?
Where are you going?
Am I not being?
What have you gone?
Who have you done?
What am I
Going?

What
is that
is that **coming?