conSumption

The siren languishes
In the shadows of my mind
Like a black cat in heat
Waiting for you
To breathe in her scent
To touch her softness
To taste her mouth, her breasts
To push her open
And slide inside
Desire dictates her every movement
From the tilt of her smile
The sway of her hips
To the angle of her neck
She smoulders inside
Eyes darkened with passion
Want consumes her in a heated skin
The siren languishes
In the ache between my legs
Wet and wanting
And waiting for her
To come back to me

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There is wonderful magic that happens between two people when the connection and chemistry are right. Consumption. It is a very powerful powerful drug and I must confess to addiction. I have this horrible fear that I will lose myself in this rhythm of want and desire. That the voice of consumption will drown out all others: reason, ration, common sense. I can not feel beyond her touch. I can not think beyond her name. She is with me constantly and I am a slave to her passion.

She talks to me about her first love. Of how she was consumed. Of how she was obsessed. She was 17. I am 48. But I feel like I am 17 again. New first love. Crushes. Heartbreak. Immature rationale. Obsessing. Wanting. Single-mindedness. All I want is to be in that place where the magic happens, eternal.

I struggle every minute with the need to be with her, the need for her and the need to be independent of my dependence on her very existence.

Yet when she looks at me in that way…

Man, I am so fucked.