Blood’s on your lips as you stare into my soul.
What is it you see?

You see a victim.
I can see the carnivorous beast in you and the predator gnashing her teeth at her prey, sending the scent of adrenaline through the air and intimating with the fragrance of potential gratification.

But I am helpless as my ears flick like a helpless doe.
You stalk your pray with ***** glances and sweet smiles from across expansions of room, waiting for the perfect moment to lunge in for the ****.
Finding it, you come closer and let me know my vulnerability with only one word.

Hi
And the rest is history
Little did the prey know that he was the hunted. Our bodies twisted and bent in such ways of pleasurous escape that I don’t realize.
I’m trapped.
Nibble on my neck like a predator crushes a windpipe.
Lick your lips like a satisfied wolf and let me know who my ender is.
Spread yourself over me and don’t let me escape, grip me like you’ll never satisfy again.

And then leave.
The predator has been satisfied, the prey left to the vultures.
How can she play with so many souls and feel no remorse? How can she turn such innocence without the slightest thought of disturbance?
One must keep his lust and his love as separate entities, for if you confuse the two, you might become a victim.


Man-eater

Hush….. can you hear that?
It’s my heartbeats every time she comes close.
I wonder if she can hear it when she passes. I wonder if anyone else can.
When she’s close by, I sense it, I sense an impending nervousness and the calm as we talk.
I wonder can she feel it too.

It’s just something about the way she moves, something about the little details of everything about her, she has me mesmerized whenever our eyes match. Hard to imagine the images that appear in my mind when our eyes lock, and I always see her. When they replay in my memory, I understand. For only angels can wear halos.
I wonder what she sees.

There’s something in the air that makes each word she makes as palatable as ginger ale. Her voice is so mellifluous that it makes my spirit hunger for emotional stimulation. I imagine long talks in sunset milieus. I imagine deeper conversations that I rarely have anymore and crippling displays of imaginative love that I’m not even sure I’d be able to provide. But with every thought, the air gets sweeter with released thoughts.
I wonder if she tastes it too.

Green apple goddess, cherry cheeks of cherished charms, her flavors speak of delicious intimacy. We constantly contrast in such distinct ways like flavor and spice. Her graceful decadence contrasting with my cinnamon smile and cayenne complements.
I wonder if she identifies the fragrance.

She is a tease to my brain and a testament to my imaginative nature, but I’d love to toy with her senses the way she toys with mine. Sending her brain racking the walls of  consciousness trying to categorize me based on those she’s known. Yet our individual uniqueness’s make us stick out to one another. I ponder her intentions, as pure as they seem, and I always get the same idea. The Idea that she’s the embodiment of me.
The embodiment of my curiosity.

No matter how distant we are,
you’re always so close to my heart

I am a creature, I am no human.
For how many humans have claws?
Why is it that even when there are so many people around me, I’m still alone?

It’s because I’m no person
I’m a separate entity.

My mind is a void. I don’t know where it came from.
All I know is that I fall in it everyday

In truth, I am a Wildman swinging an ax. Where was the tree when I was burying my weapon into the helpless?
Why am I still in a hush over the things I shouldn’t even be thinking about? Why do I call myself a poet and why is it that the kind of poems I do are about something that I’ve barely felt.
It’s Ironic, isn’t it?
My soul dries up as people soak each other in liquid love. My heart burns as people kiss around me. I don’t feel jealousy, just a longing.
A longing for that taste that I used to know.
A longing for the cuisine of love and all its benefits.
For even though I only had a taste of something I considered basic
I still hunger for what I had.
I still hunger for that flavor

It’s like my life flashes before I can grip it
I think too much about what I try to say, and always end up messing my words up.
I can’t fix it. It’s grown on my
Growth
A product of time.
A sapling is born in a soul, that soul is tormented and the sapling struggles for life.
But the sapling endures in the freezing temperatures.
It knows it will blossom to become a true self-revelation.
When will this sapling become a tree?
Only time will tell