I Wrote This Poem, Can You Guess What it is Yet?

The heat is beating down

But not a body stirs.

Behind each closed eye play dreams of the next hunt,

Down by the water hole.

The sound of hooves racing on thirsty soil,

A dazzling flank of black and white,

The humid smell of fear.

The Pride stirs.

A flex of paws,

An orgasmic stretch from ears to tail

She moves out

Muscular limbs at the ready for the hunt.

She spots him,

Standing alone like a beacon,

The cracks of old age marring his nose.

Hunkering down, whiskers to the ground

She pads in the undergrowth.

Pulse racing, rump in the air,

She pounces from her hiding place

Claws extended.

A blur of golden brown fur, a piercing scream,

The hunt has begun,

The Zebra and the Lion.

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