finding the lions

Perhaps we give nature its human voice when we allow it to enter us through the poetic imagination. Here’s the 2nd poem in a series of 3:

Photo: Mike Visagie ©

Photo: Mike Visagie ©

I wake to find a lioness has crept into my limbs
She stretches, rolls and purrs
lies waiting, distantly alert, expectant
and watches her mate stealthily
through sleepy-slitted eyes.

We’d searched all day for the lions
and finally found them sunning themselves
in the late long afternoon grass, these wild royals
stately and languorous, so lavishly amorous.
He courting her, his great tongue licking her neck.
She biding her time; letting him wait.

When he placed his massive paw onto her back
and gently pushed her down
she submitted graciously, one feline glance
cast back at him as if to idly check
she really had secured him. Her satisfied indifference
in the moment of his culminating snarl.

They were rarely seen the ranger said.

And so I am surprised to find them once again this morning
with an air of predatory relish
reclining in our bed.