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We roll round in a froth of lace,

Legs entwined, pulling hair,

You bite my shoulder, I scratch your face

It's female war and I don't care!

But in this battle of teeth and nails -

Our arms and legs going like flails -

The oddity is the feminine perfume

That floats above the conflict, the squeals

and choked breath, yes all round the room,

I woman rage out of control, it feels

Primeval, cruel, strong, yet beautiful

Like your breasts, obvious, thrusting

Against my own, the more bountiful.

But greedy fingers squeeze unlusting

And mark the soft white globes, once trusting

to a lover's caress which here is not.

 

We cling together, ah yes, lover-like,

But nipping teeth and raking claws,

Stabbing kicks, swinging slaps, they all incite

Retaliation in massive degree which draws

The climax of a hair and clothes-tearing frenzy,

Which if our man could see would have him cheering.

We'll fight again, you and I, this combat heats the blood

And I'll take you down again Kathleen to see who gets the stud.

In our disheveled states are we not endearing?

Clothes, skin and hair tell of our female brawling,

The wonder is that men find it so enthralling.

Some of my stories:

She was a Graduate in the Art of High School Hairpulling.

Red-headed Rival.

Sisterly Advice.

Buys will be Girls and come up to Scratch.

The Other Woman Wins.

 

 

CONTACT: susanondine@hotmail.com

 

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