There are no words, just conscious of my breath
Slow panting, pacing, racing of my heart.
A focus that will stare you down through death-
And only let that try to make us part.
You’re flushed, bright red, some sweat my hand just wipes
Without a thought and raised for me to taste,
And stretch in need revealing sacred stripes
On arms that gently wrap around your waist.
I smell your fear, but you must let it go-
Let nothing lie between your life and mine,
And feel the truth-that God must love us so
With brighter love than all the stars that shine.
I follow you into our private den
Where rituals of deepest love unfold.
And you will call me “Tiger” yet again,
A whisper from a dream our hearts foretold.
The dream that won’t let go, but holds us now
As mystic beasts who feel the powers stir.
You let me be what I must be somehow
As I embrace and listen to you purr.
John H. Bidwell