Paws of a Lioness

Her paws. The palms bounced

to and fro on the climbing rocks,

Claws intact, slightly overgrown

and worn. Senior years, I’d assume

But what defines age? Her eyes

had a spritz of youth sprayed into

the marble spheres. She saw me.

I stared back. My eyes had creases

at the sides. Hypocrisy pinged the

moment for that second, and I

knew that she’d see me as the

steak of all desires – a feast to

herself – who could blame her?

She’s an animal.

I saw the enclosure cage her wild

instinct. She once screamed to be

free, but now, she lost the fight

within her roaring soul to even

think about running on African

plains.

And as beautiful as she was, and

as grateful as I was to see such a

glorious creature, this was not the

chosen way of seeing her, like this,

Because it was not the life she chose for her and her feline paws.

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