If i am a lioness then you are the felt of my paws, the curve of my jaw, the flick at the end of my tongue. If I am a predator then you are my hunger and my ability, both.
After sex my hair is a cloud around my face and I would hide, but I call it a mane, and growl your name. I stay buried in the taste of your skin, the sound of your breath. Your body is a beckoning and I listen closely to the call.
If I was four-legged I think I would still be unstable. In this life I have been a desert lion, worn golden and ragged in high winds and long droughts. I am thirsty, I am hungry, lord.
Before sex when my anxiety is still curled in my mouth, I burnish myself to a high sheen, softened and sweetened till I am sure you will not taste the salt and dirt of me. I lay down my hair, lay down the hem of my dress, slick my lips so that they will glide under your ear. I hope you will not notice my torn claws, I pray the scars are deep enough in my hide.
If I am a lioness then at last I can understand my need to drag ten claws down your back, close my teeth in the beat of your throat. If I am a lioness then you are my hunger, my ability, my pride.