Lean muscle inside a shell. Serious eyes. Through these long tunnels of branches I rise, the hunt for meat has had me crouching on hands and knees.
I watch you from afar, head cocked gazing off into the distance. It takes every ounce of will to hold my body still. When the time comes the capture will be swift. You are a slow-moving creature, lost, small, pinned inside this hard exterior for years.
For me every breath is a struggle. Without your arched nuances exhaling life into the inner lining of my being I will not survive.
I am a creature of this earth, for this I should not be feared. I wait for the instance to dig you out, to taste your decadent core.
Why have the others not yet pounced? Perhaps they listen for the creatures that squawk at the dawn, only to discover they are simply empty, blaring, transitory sirens across the horizon.
You view the world in black no matter what time of day. I wish for my face to be the first thing you see when the light shines in.