The Bowman

It was his excellence and ability,
Which drew her into his ranks.
The tension both light and firm
His touch erotic, in its strength.

Tender and gentle in its pull,
Wanting in its release.
Her tension grew steadily with
The drawing of his beast

For her, the time had finally come.
The silence as she reached,
Matched the ‘wisp’ of the arrow,
As it sought so grand a peak

With perfect aim her body flexed,
As precisely as the shaft.
Freed, the arrow sought its target.
A split second passed.

Declaring loudly its release,
The Bull’s eye he did claim.
And in the screams of their victory
She cried out his name.

My Bowman!