Feisty's Fantasy Fairy Tale

She sees no trace of Tiger in me, but a lamb hung on a rack.
She tortures me for all to see, yet I remain quite humble and smile back.
But I have got what she has not, the coin can fall either way.
This Tiger with all it's hunger, is just waiting for it's day.
In the night where I fight, my claws upon the prize.
She racks me no more, and begs for me to kill her,
but it is my joy to play,
thus while the hours away,
and choose as I will, ah! the thrill of the kill.
Muted murmurs, whimpers her only reply,
when I say, "Now's time to die".
A feast her feet, her arms, thigh and legs,
her back of neck so sweet-
I feast where and when I choose,
to(naw)on bones with teeth and tongue to tickle-
But wait! I thought her dead!
What's that I hear? A giggle!
And me practiced in the arts of savoring body parts.
With daring taste, there is no other for this flesh lover.
Did her mother never tell her,
"Judge not a book by it's cover"?
You know in the end, I had to kill her again,
and again, and again, and again.
She in essence, my food in life.
How else can a Tiger live?
The ups and downs, all the world goes round,
she is at my center.
Will words of love, or sharp claws be enough to win her?
Oh No! She has me on the rack again.
Such innocence in that look,
My tongue tied in a knot,
a hundred verses written, a thousand I forgot.
The forest is alive, and always that sounding "hummm",
she crooks her little finger, and again I'm on the run.
If looks could kill, you should see her displeasure,
but it is in the night, when we fight,
that with her, I will always win.
She awakes every morning and I must, I must,
kill her all over again.

If a certain someone ever reads this, I'm dead meat.
I had more fun writing this, it still makes me laugh.
Yes! I've got "SnowBalls", tis the season.
How do you spell "naw"?