A Wolf's Tradition

I split the wrist who feeds me.
Feeding on delicate liquid,
Soft breath stroking my fur,
All to open and see.

Gentle grace calls me out.
At night I stalk and chase,
The silent killer,
Roams wide and about!

Slow struggles give me pleasure.
The rasp for breath causing excitement,
Slowing pulses vibrating below me,
Eyes growing dull for measure.

Perhaps I'm evil,
To enjoy such things?
I'd say not since it's my nature,
Infesting like black weevil.

Nature is all it will be.
Traditions set down to follow,
And follow I shall do,
It is a part of me.

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© KayD [2006]