How exquisite you are stripped bare! I scatter kisses across your face and throat, descend to two gentle slopes, carefully kiss the peaks and lose myself in rapture...... Lower, ever lower, I sink, and now at that cherished threshold, wet and warm beneath my tongue, two soft lips part like petals. The tender, delicate fragrance of your bloom, you understand...... this is beauty's pinnacle...... I drink your nectar, in paradise, I am the seventh heaven..... possessed entirely by possession itself! There is a magical mound...... the key to the locked chamber, with which I seek to enter, into you, my beloved, gently, purely. How resplendent your rosy flower! to caress those lips with such hunger, I could never withdraw...... yet already I am drenched...... What cruel fate that all of this lives only in my mind.....
# Obsession I cannot leave you alone, the way a moth circles the lamp through the whole dark night— the way a river keeps returning to the stone that blocks its way. You have become my grammar, the syntax of my days. I conjugate you: present, past, conditional—all the tenses where you might exist, where I might find you. Your absence is a room I furnish and refurnish, rearranging shadows as if they were chairs, as if sitting still long enough I might understand the silence. I have memorized the weight of your name on my tongue, the exact number of steps between thought and your face, the precise angle at which hope catches the light before it falls. I know this is the kind of love that devours itself, a snake eating its tail, a question that answers nothing— yet I cannot stop asking. You are the threshold I cross again and again, the same door, the same room, the same hunger that never sleeps. Even now, as I write this, you are the ink, the paper, the hand that holds the pen.
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