Ruby Incarnidine

Slow stalking steps.
Deep, easy breaths.
Paws barely touch the ground, a cat's tiptoe.

The scent of you is intoxicating, distance irrelevant to the brief flashes of it on the wind.

The predator in my head has settled to wait, settled to slowly hunt.

I hope she knows that this hunt is not one at which she can succeed; hope she knows that sometimes all prey escapes.

I try to explain, share images of deer that bound away and times when other predators are simply biggerfasterstronger, but she does not understand the concept of losing, does not understand not trying.


She doesn't understand that she can't have you.