Night Owl
Clock strikes one —
he hits the town,
club lights pulse,
the bass shakes down.
The room is jumping — so is she,
a tempting shadow set to tease.
He aches to taste her heated skin,
to start the rush and pull her in.
They roll it tight and let it flow,
night-owl hunters lose control.
The hunger swells, the body floods,
the fever rises in their blood.
She pulls him close — no turning back,
her nails trace lines, her lips attack.
She guides him into places new,
the hunt is done — she joins the crew.
They writhe and grind with burning hips,
a frantic rhythm — fevered lips.
The dance is wild, the bodies play,
he’s claimed his prize — his perfect prey.
The moon dips low — the moment hot,
the night owl gives her all he’s got.