• Andréa Fekete

Women Walk Among Men like Gazelle Among Lions

and you are one of them, bending your long neck by water, serene, your thin ankles tooth scarred by near misses reminding you lions crouch hidden in nearby shade. Somehow, you loved your tender human male anyway.

He wasn’t vicious. His eyes, blue, did not glisten lion-black. His claws retracted, hands soft as baby’s breath but when your neck rested tenderly in them like a violin, you knew just one twist of his wrist could turn you from woman to gazelle

if he wanted.


So you gazed into his eyes, no longer blue ocean but black and golden as death, your blood throbbing terribly in your

exposed white throat.

So you leaped from his arms

just in case.


How cold is your hiding place in the desert tonight? What safety? Just the sound of your own shivering breath. The sound of the heart you keep breaking with your own hands somehow

still beating.




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