Tiger

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