Lena and the Dragon

From behind her, the clap of beating wings,
then those leathery paws make their steely caress.
The same hungering hands that held Maia firm
affix to white wrists; the tail winds a ring,
drawing her close, scales against breast,
with snout and hoof and horn in turn.

Still locked in the cloud of interrupted dream,
how could her quiet hands resist his thrall?
Somewhere, between fantasy and nightmare, bound,
as he pulls her over prairie, mountain, and stream,
until, come sunrise, he lets them both fall
along with the dew to unfamiliar ground.