" THE SNARE " ( Part Two )

                                                              "The Snare" (Part Two)

To watch her feed is like watching a full moon drift behind a bank of clouds until you see the light illuminating the edge of the grey-black mist. The light is so bright you want to keep the vision in focus, but there is pain—the pain that comes from trying to see too much of the lunar glory. So, you reel back and let the silver light bathe you instead.

Try to look into her eyes when they burn with all of the fire and fury of Hell and you will go blind. Touch her skin when she is feeding and the identity on your fingertips will become singed. Kiss her lips and you will know what it feels like to be sated, poisoned and satisfied in a single breath. Every fibre of muscle in your body, every neuron and memory, turn their devices to her service. Your muscles will ache when they can't be near her. Your mind will starve for one thing and one thing only. Your memory will fade until there is nothing left but her. Finally, your desire will find emptiness everywhere, except in her. She will be the thing that fills you, the only need you will ever know.

If you kiss her you will be dead to everyone else, including yourself—but how could you resist?

You lose pieces of yourself with each illicit desire she stokes in you. A kiss is never repeated. Each one is unique, unless it is a kiss of obligation or duty. The blandness is the same. If you open your soul wide enough, she will rush in and devour the darkness. Her lips are as soft and soothing as the deepest sleep. That first instant of contact and your eyelids drop down, so that you see only through tiny slits meant to protect you from the brightest of lights. It is a defense to the pain you might experience. Such a defense is hedging one's bets against a bad debt.

She watches your eyes close and she knows you are lost. The next time you try to exercise restraint, there is just a little bit less, and the attrition never stops. Once you show weakness, you are always going to lose to her. That is what she wants and that is what you will want.

Your lips, touching hers, now parting slowly until you want to open your mouth impossibly wide and devour her or to let her crawl inside you. At that moment, there would be nothing easier.

Your lips press gently against hers, opening wider, until you can feel the gulf. There is no heat from her throat, only the cool gulf from her soul steals heat from you. Your mouths are now open to each other, the oxygen-deprived air passes between you ever so gently. Waiting, you are tortured by the phantom of her tongue. It is there, waiting to feed you, pushing your tongue down in your mouth, dominating you; yet, you crave the submission—the absence of it murderous.

 

( To be continued )...

Experienced by James G.

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