Hello Kitty

She listens from her seat, a nameless face in the crowd
as the poet reads, she becomes aroused by every word,
syllable and sound, every verbal image portrayed and
engrained on her brain.

He is the one.

Sixty-ish, lively and petit, the insatiable hunger awakens
her instinct, the drive to hunt younger fresh meat.

She is on the prowl.

During the break between the feature and the open mike,
she stalks, lurks in the midst of the mingling audience
and waits with the patience of a lioness hiding in the tall grass.

The poet moves on, headed down the hall to the restrooms.

With silent stealth, she follows unnoticed.

The open mike begins and the hallway empties.

She lies in wait just outside the men’s room door.

The unsuspecting poet exits and she strikes like lightning.

The cougar pounces on her prey and with a death grip lip-lock,
drags him into lady’s room and once inside she displays catlike quickness.

With one swift motion she locks the door, has the poet’s pants
on the floor and on her knees, gnaws on his member.

The poet stiffens, paralyzed, in shock and awe, resistance, futile,
no escape, he accepts his fate and capitulates.

She holds his undivided attention.   

She climbs his body clawing and pawing him
on her way up.

He is her ball of yarn, her scratch post of desire.

She nibbles on his neck, ears and lips.

She hops back onto the sink never loosing contact, picks up her skirt,
reveals a crotch-less garter and her moist womanhood.

She bares her nails and digs them into his back as she pulls the poet into her.

She growls with delight as they both grope, grab and grind.

She shudders and purrs with contentment at climax.

With a sigh and a kiss, she leaves the poet mauled like a trophy toy, a dead
mouse or small bird left by the kitchen door.

Satiated she smiles and says as she exits down the hallway,
“Now you have good material to write a poem about.”