Fang and claw,
Blood soaked fur.
A gasp for air.
A first word? Or a last statement?

Sweat flowing,
Bodies writhing.
Then . . . silence.
Passion's embrace? Or hatred's revenge?

Trying to analyze the timeless unknown.
Answers tainted by obscure visions.
Truth laying out of reach,
As I go walking.

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Miraman, in the year 288 AF.