Pull her down by the wings

She moves about you, just out of your reach
It is all about the tease, it is part of the ritual
I guess you could call this the build up
She knows, at least you feel she does.
‘Don’t deny me’ you say to her through gritted teeth
but there is something you enjoy about this game too.
You sit, pen in mouth, nonchalant air, for all the world to see
The paragon of composure.
You imagine this to be desirous and attractive to the opposite sex.
And to wreak envy upon any competition, alpha or beta.
You fancy your look and poise say;
‘I am a man who knows what he is doing and needs nothing’,
inside it is a different story.
One of angst, longing.
Stuck in the eternal cycle of chasing, hunting, finding, laying and moving on.
You never find peace, never find completion.
You catch her move again from the corner of your eye.
‘Come to me’, you will her,
but nothing.
She pushes you to your limits.
Remaining just out of reach.
You want her more than ever.
Forever aloof, forever present, her scent in the air.
And just sometimes.
Once or twice in a lifetime maybe.
You catch her.
She struggles a bit,
You pull her down by the wings, and rape her onto the page.
For a while you feel a sense of relief
And then, for a brief moment, you are that man.