Sex.

The night does not make me tremble,
but enfebbles me with excitment.
Curiously, you move towards my bed.
Even though you haven't touched me,
in the dark you're fur ruffles,
following rumbles from your throat,
all make me whine in ecstasy.
You finally make your fatal approach.
Shuddering under your ravenous gaze,
I go to taste that tense part,
that throbs above me, waiting.
A Milky Way flavored sweet.
Wet 'n Wild, when you pull out,
You know now only our rhythm,
may move you to rest soundly.
Oh, come deeper into the real me.
Must there be two owls,
hooting into this white night?
Higher, rasping in this newborn body,
but time to come home my master and slave,

forever,
your mourning dove.