Nature Of The Beast

My sweet simple hunger, cutting inward with desperate heat to the heart. I seldom know the truth in fingers where hands might take the place of words but I can’t quite figure the path from here to there and there to wherever it is I think I desire to go. But hey - why let something so simple as not understanding, not knowing, not existing in any real fashion stop me from doing precisely whatever it is I that I want.

I want people to read my words on my lips. I want my thoughts to be painted on my skin, so you can know just how good I am with them. My words are like blades, like tempo setting drums that can pace you to the end in a soft tempor of sweet lingering pain. I want people to know that I know- I know. Yet I don’t think you know what I can do with my lips.

Maybe I just need to tie you up, wrap my fingers around your wrists and throat like a reminder, a warm steady reminder of how it feels to be secure in a way that money, love and even friends can’t give you. I strip you bare of your everything; every face you wear during the day comes off with the snap of my fingers or the whisper of my name for you. Our secret language shared in a look when I have you completely exposed.

This is the moment of surrender, of complete replacement of all those things that hold you back. I tie you up to free you from your inhibitions. I hold you down that you finally struggle for life. I rip you open so that you can feel all the way to your core what it is to breath in synchronicity and breath out the remainder of your self in perfect rhythm to my fingers. I pretend to know you. But all those secrets I know about you I learned from myself.

I touch you like I want to be touched; I push you where I want to go.