The Beautiful Animal

By the time I recalled that it is also terrifying, we had gone too far into the charmed woods to return. It was then the beautiful animal appeared in our path: ribs jutting, moon-fed eyes moving from me to you and back. If we show none of the fear, it may tire of waiting for the triggering flight, it may ask only to lie between us and sleep, fur warm on our skin, breath sweet on our necks as it dreams of slaughter, as we dream alternately of feeding and taming it and of being the first to run. The woods close tight around us, lying nested here like spoons in a drawer of knives, to see who wakes first, and from which dream.