They growl a bit of trash talk
and move swiftly side to side.
White teeth blur, mouths agape.
Furred bodies parry and stop.
With a start again, little one leaps.
Lanky one follows onto the bed,
sheets and pillow sent askew.
He counts for barely a third of her.
She accounts for mass and movement.
Little one prattles a high pitched verse,
song of abandon, joy in the conflict.
Lanky one takes hold of his voice,
never pressing, just pretending.
She rolls; he pins; they stop.
They pull their bodies side to side,
push their boundaries just to see.
He darts under, then over her.
She bows, then barks. Ballet.
They are in a place I cannot go.
So, I watch. I wonder.
Everything else slips away.