Little by little between waking and sleep, I try not to think of my longing and my pain, yet your hand falls across my skin, falls into a battle I refuse to contemplate but my soul searches for you, my thoughts devour me— what is it to touch you again?
My skin alive and my throat tight with want, remember that beginning when I held you, just for a moment, just for myself. I curse that moment because I need it to last forever. I curse that moment because I want it to be a story, not just a fragment. I curse that moment because since then I have not known stillness, and I think of you as relentlessly as breath itself, I almost recover your scent, can almost taste your hair upon the wind— so I choose to conjure you instead, I choose to feel your eyes meeting mine, your mouth merging with mine with no escape, your breath trembling because like me you curse that day.
Perhaps it is only imagination, only something in my skull, my solitude and this burning, consuming hunger, perhaps this tale can exist nowhere but in dreams, yet here you are, in the dark of my mind, I can undress you slowly, here I can take your hands, guide them to my hips, I can surrender to this hunger, can pour cruelty and tenderness from myself, here it is not wrong that I touch you, that I feel your breath with a hunger that overwhelms, that I can master you and pull you under, that I can seduce you and bite you until you forget your own name, that you become my witness and I your spectacle, that I leave you wordless, wanting only me.
I want to ignite your darkest hunger, I want to kiss you until my lips are raw, to move with you slowly, then with violence, so that in your eyes, consumed with desire, only I am reflected— but here is the wound: only in my mind, only here, can I marry my fever to you with a feeling I cannot speak aloud in this world, only in this realm can I hold everything at once, the hunger, the love, and you— and it tears me apart.