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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOmityPPxHU

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Low lights, smoke

Billowing amidst the strobe, 

Candles and organza,

Silverware, suits

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And a cut of sirloin steak,

Bleeding, in rosemary ribbons,

Dripping from the VIP menu

And trickling

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Onto veined-marble floors and 

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  Off

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Of his polished, porcelain plate.

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Oh, but she was a gazelle, 

Limber, a striped and

Patterned dress,

Layered in black and white,

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Hugging the convexity of her frame, and

Rippling beneath the stage-lights.

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Feline in her features,

Avian in her grace,

She gently caressed the microphone, 

Close, to the cherry, delicate

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Symmetries

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Of her pursed, patient lips

And the curved, shadowed contours

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That mapped the aspects of her face.

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Kinked into contrapposto - 

This was the Serengeti

And hers was the gait, 

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As though 

Cleft from the herd and

Limping, she was 

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Exactly their kind of bait:

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Lions seated at dinner-tables

With anacondas at their heel,

Leopards amidst the bannisters,

All eyes upon their meal.

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And yet 

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As she struck her tempo, and her chords 

Unstrung in play, 

The lounge became a watering-hole

And her audience, the buffet.

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Salivating 

In sudden silence -

Jaws all hung

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Astray -

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It was no longer, then,

Distinguishable - which were

Predator 

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From prey.

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