Wolf

The lights are shifting against the pane of glass under which he kneels.
I watch him curl his toes against the back of his thighs
strength warring against agility and desire.

Light breaks through the window panes and shatters on his thigh.

There is grace in the knotted muscles coiling against his throat —
his Adam’s apple throbbing in anticipation.

I crook My finger, a silent beckon.

I see him bite his lip a moment,
the pull of old primal instincts raging in his gut,
before he ducks his head and leans forward
sliding along the slick wooden floor slats.

I smile softy, stretching out My own calves as I wait.

He sidles up to My thigh
kneeling close enough to breathe against My skin.
I reach out My hand, tucking My fingers beneath his chin and —
pushing up — look into his eyes and watch them flicker
and turn to the corner under My gaze.

He snarls and I laugh.

It’s the third time we’ve played this game —
And some might question the wisdom
Of snapping My leash three times to him
When I’m so prone to running.
When he never really saw ME.

But, he’s a wolf
And there is still a bit of alpha in his heart
Which is most assuredly why I love him.

He thinks he lacks strength
But that is the strangest lie
He is not a dog — he is the wolf and
When he sits at my feet I can see the war
that wages in his chest — and he burns to stand.
When he says “Domina” the word tastes good to him–
But only because it is like bitter, dark chocolate,
A poison craved by the wolf so that I
Must keep it on a high shelf and nearly out of his reach.

I suppose I always liked a challenge.

But there comes a point when One must realize
The difference between a challenge and an impossibility.
And so, this third time, when he submits —
Even I question My own sanity a bit.
That is, until he leans up hard against My leg and mutters softly,
his voice nearly cracking —
“Home.”