carnivore incarnate

He is feral.
Hair like pine needles matted with the pulp of the forest.
His breath is diseased, consuming, and undiffused.
Bloody eyes swirl through vortexes of hunger.
He pads the mossy track like ants in cotton wool.

She is cloaked in red.
A girl, bathing in the youth of puberty.
She licks her plum lips hardened by the chilled air.
She has a mole settled under her left lavender eye,
Cherubic, she exudes effortless sensuality.

Stalking the shadow-lit elders the carnivore incarnate forages the clearing for a toughened stone on which to sharpen nicotine-stained teeth.

With a sideways glance she is aware.
Dousing her fingers with a slippery tongue she parts the cloak and swivels her hips to the sway of the sycamore.
She leads him through the fern with ease.
The woodcutter's shanty house.

She raps on the door with knuckles etched in mottled bruising.
A serpentine whisper and his wherabouts is betrayed.
With a strike of axe the wolf is floor-bound.
She tenderly cradles his paw and plucks out gritty claws with sharpened teeth.

Decorating her milky throat with trophies she steps over the body of the wolf.
Savouring the tingle of her touch he dies devouring her crimson scent.

Molly