Longbow  Bedded

That I be as Oconostota, pull your string so taut, the bow of your back curves to primal possession, then snaps free… passion liberated: Wicked. Wet. How my arrow flies straight, true and deep… you felled to its impact, its accuracy, its certainty, its saving grace in bringing you to your knees. Slain. Mine.

That I be just a man, pick you up, my woman, not just another muse… as preferred weapon, drawn back… to my bed: Tender. Loved. Eaten. The spine of you arched long, beautiful, powerful: deadly… you deliciously spread in my mouth. I in yours. Your gush sustaining. My spurts, feed. Resurrection in Release.