The Kill

My heart is thumping in time with my step
Pulling me into myself.

I am hyper aware of my every sense:
The sweat on my neck, the scratch of my jeans, the whip of my hair on my face.

I lick my lips and taste the gloss,
My eyes flicker over the scene.

I feel like a panther stalking her prey.

I catch his scent on the wind, I have him locked in my sight.
He raises his head in a startled way, sensing that something is wrong.
He scans the horizon, but all that he sees is a harmless girl all alone.

I grin to myself as I see him relax;
I can almost taste the kill.

He actually approaches me, as is my plan.

Come, pretty boy, into my arms.

And he drapes his arm over my shoulders,
In that old-fashioned male protection.
Happy he won his prize.

Kandace Blevin 4-20-99

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