The slick fox arched a russet eyebrow,
Feathering his tail into an artful plume.
With a flash of white teeth, rather sharp,
He cunningly encased those incisors with a grave smile,
Thinking to seem solemn and concerned was the best tactic.
To appear thoughtful, he gently cleared his throat
Not overdoing the decibels, he kept them just right.
He was very aware foxes were often labeled, “sly,”
In order to dispel this conception,
He slyly gave a heartfelt chuckle and
Allowed an understanding gleam to flash in his eyes,
As he patted her hand ever so gently,
Hoping to convey a patient tenderness.
Her slight quiver was the signal
He had been awaiting.
Only his mind smirked,
As his eyes held hers in deep communion.
The fox’s furtive craft, though callous,
He had skillfully managed to achieve.
As he stroked her silky hair,
He witnessed the tremble in her naked eyes.
Ah, yes!
He realized this tidbit was now
Artfully nailed to his bed.

As time went by,
Bewilderment ensued.
Somehow he could not get enough of her,
The pure satin of her lovemaking
Shimmered in his mind
But, now a mirage;
Chokingly desirable
In the enticing distance.
She left with an obvious smirk.
Tides had turned with a snap.
It was she who
Held the hammer