\n Bundled muscles tensing
\n\n Crackling bones and marrow
\n\n Shifting of a shimmering soul
\n\n From civilized to feral
\n\n
\n\n Stench, sweet and sour musk
\n\n From dusky black upon cremy white
\n\n The plume of a foul and fine tail
\n\n Swishes in the sacred moonlight
\n\n
\n\n His fingers crack the dry dirt
\n\n With tension from the change
\n\n While familiar shape, visage,
\n\n And proportion, rearrange.
\n\n
\n\n I lewdly stare and fantasize
\n\n A shape that's in my head,
\n\n Beading with sweat, it percolates
\n\n Not man--a fox instead
\n\n
\n He's sweating through his toes now--
\n And panting with his tongue.
\n\n His home will be a den soon,
\n\n Sweetened from the smell of dung.
\n\n
\n\n He bids adieu his smooth round face,
\n\n Instead, it's now a snout,
\n\n He hears the call of the vixen's wail,
\n\n Cringes, tries to shut it out.
\n\n
\n\n And now he's on all fours begging.
\n\n Straining with all his might,
\n\n As his eyes contract to slits--
\n\n Reds and yellows enroach upon his sight.
\n\n
\n\n With a swish the vixen comes to court him,
\n\n Shitting in the grass.
\n\n She circles, dances, parades, and prances,
\n\n Presents her sultry ass.
\n\n
\n\n No, no grace here. None--
\n\n And yet, what a wondrous sight,
\n\n That two beasts so small can muster up
\n\n Such fierce, tenacious might.
\n\n
\n\n But despite his fighting still, the man
\n\n Has merely progressed through change.
\n\n His toes have lifted, feet now four--his
\n\n body's become strange.
\n\n
\n\n His will is now anothers;
\n\n And he feeds in with resistance.
\n\n Newfound fangs and whiskers
\n\n Are the prize for his persistance.
\n\n
\n\n And the man is lost, in one great fire--
\n\n A frenzied trembling of desire:
\n\n He observes: her teats, the cusp of
\n\n her own sweet netherlips
\n\n
\n\n Out flares the tip
\n\n And in it sinks
\n\n Driving mankin to the brink
\n\n The rutting, screaming, and the stink
\n\n
\n\n At last, he's gone. There's naught, but stink.
\n\n
\n\n Naught but a fox. Naught but a dog. What loss! What loss? And who to claim a loss today?
\n\n Is it you? It is not I.
\n\n I praise the change, and beg it hither.
\n\n I've been lonely for so long--
\n\n And my mind is a fox.
\n\n Alone, a man... and how, alone, I wither.
\n
Frankly, it's not common for people to be in a rush to read poetry here--they're after... certain other works of literature, for rather obvious reasons.
And who can condemn them? This is where we go to relish what we crave. Poetry so often tends to dodge around the subject, and arousal lives or dies in but a few seconds--no time to sit and ponder verse or rhyme.
Being an Aspie, I tend to get very invested in a fantasy, to the exclusion of things like eating--so when I write, it's with all my lust, and with very little thought for what's going on around me.
And on that note, browse over what I just wrote, and I'll check out your stuff when I'm full and refreshed. ^^;