You aren’t my type.

Every time my eyes met yours, I felt like a mouse facing a giant snake. Yours were a vicious and beautiful green while mine were a meek brown. For a second, our souls touched, barely brushed, hardly shifted, imperceptibly so....

And in that moment I knew...

But I was enthralled, fear true utter fear consumed me,

…..I was intrigued. I was fascinated…..

And I knew…

I would kiss and cut you at the same time.

I would want my mark on you, to scar you, to leave a trail of where my breath had fanned your skin.

I wanted to burn you from the inside, heal you, kill you, then

resuscitate you.

So that with every inhale, my scent filled your lungs.

I wanted to

….no needed to….

to claim you to the point, where you were no longer yourself but an extension of myself….

And so that I would be the extension of yourself.

But I knew….

You would eat me alive

That you would…..

slay me, conquer me, make me forget my own name.

That you would….

Hold me, kiss me, trail your fingers up and down the valleys and ridges of every sinew and muscle of my body.

That there would be times where you would make me yours

like a possession, a treasure, a toy

That you would make me scream your name

And beg for your touch

That you would…..

conquer me, leave me, hurt me, and then love me.

In that very specific order.

And that for the first time,

make me feel fragile and like a woman….

And that we could not stop.

Until consumption was our guilt

And my blood ran in your veins.