On AnimalsMature

Women and men are not alike, I'd love to tell you how--
Women, you see, are a feline breed, with the odd one being a cow.
Men, other hand, are usually dogs, sometimes rats and sometimes hogs,
And in spite of tales of a handsome prince, there are also a fair few frogs.

But returning to women, specifically me, I'm a different breed of cat, you'll see.
Nothing domestic, or housecat mild--I am a tiger, and mostly wild.
But no fear of humanity do I call mine; au contraire, this tiger has taken a shine
To the taste of manflesh, pungent and sweet.
I'm a tiger; and men are my favourite meat.

I eat them for breakfast, I eat them for brunch,
At dinner or teatime, what some folk call lunch,
My supper is man, my midnight snack too,
And one's never enough--I need more than a few.

I go through them by clawfuls, I gobble down dozens,
Whole families, extending to 4th and 5th cousins,
And yet once I've had 2 or 204,
It's never enough--I always want more.

Then, out of the blue I met someone unique,
He's a little bit kinky, a bit of a freak,
And I'll gladly admit, though it injures my pride,
Sometimes he even leaves me... satisfied.

And he touches the one place I try not to show,
My heart's in his hands, and he holds it just so.
And he's gentle--with me--when I'd almost forgot
What it's like to be hurt, and then suddenly, not.

So the breaker of vows, the teller of lies,
Has at last found one man she doesn't despise.
And the stealer of souls, the eater of men,
Is settling down with one man, again.

Because though she was right, and men are beasts,
A dog is as good as a cat, at least,
And even a tiger feels sad and alone--
But not with a doggie to call her own.

The End

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