Anticipation shaketh down below
Wherefore I shan’t release thee shouldst thou call
Or even beg, as seem thou to prefer.
I feel thee, languid, try my binding crawl

With tense delight enveloping thee slow;
So push and crawl and twist thyself away.
That every moment my delight would stir;
And ripping, take my kill.  And thou:  my prey,

Imagine, over all our blood doth flow,
When deep within thy flesh my talons rake;
And to thy plaintive cry shall not defer
‘Til take my fill of all that I may take.

This predator… no… nary turn around:
Thou knew’st, though he prefer his prey face down!

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