Sylvia Fairley: Food of Love

Sexy Mantis, quite a gal,
displaying her erotic zones,
flaunts her stuff, a femme fatale,
lures her mate with pheromones.

Joins him in a ritual dance,
wild, abandoned; spreads her wings,
the little fellow has no chance,
she’s waving her raptorial things.

And he, poor chap, is undersized
but can’t resist – he’s on her back;
this action, though, is ill-advised,
he’s not her equal in the sack.

He’ll hope and pray, but as they mate
he knows that when push comes to shove
she’s planning to decapitate
and then consume her cast-off love.

And soon, before his passion’s spent,
with crushing jaws, she’ll start to munch –
he’s on the menu, main event,
a hapless male served up for lunch.

Oh, how he wishes he had found
a gentle soul with whom to share
his love of sweet, harmonious sound
and sensuous joy for all things fair.

"Too late!’", he cries, "for cultured pearls,
Indeed, the moral’s tried and tested:
Don’t lose your head to sexy girls
unless you want to be ingested."