When your arm brushes against mine, softly, I can’t guess the texture and yet I know it. I counted all the hair covering that little bit of surface because I plan to pluck out all thousand of them one by one. I know I can take my time.
When the skin is new, your lips will open to me and I’ll let my tongue in to collect the very essence of you; I will transfer the you in you on the new skin and will lick it clean and leave it exposed to the carbon dioxide I stored in my lungs.
I’ll tie you up with my hair and pull until every muscle is tense and sore. Feel me now. I am pain.
I press my teeth against your skin, it’s smooth and elastic, it doesn’t let me in; I bite harder, slower. The epidermis pops and then it’s like cold butter, I can only go deeper.
I rest my jaw in your arm and let the blood fill up the little spaces that separate us. Only now I feel closer to you, only now I know we can go lower. I sense your moan under your skin, it reverberates in the muscle; murmuring secrets get stuck in my teeth.
I smile and give you up to my hunger. Intoxicating glimpses of light I see behind the door left ajar so that we could always crawl back to ourselves. And I give in and drink all the blue until I am colour blind and can take no more. I am the new you, drained of pain, breathless, tasteless, ecstatic.
myself by Simon Morris