Death becomes me. You walk through the room. Eroticism consumes my every whim. This overwhelming desire that you give me gracefully drains my soul of any self-control. I feel so animalistic. Arousal from every corner. In spite, I look the other way as if not even noticing your existence. I can sense your intrigued. You love this game. Tag. I’m it. I’m the one with the control. You sit. You stare. I pounce. You’re my prey. Slamming your physique forcefully against the bare wood floor, you can’t help but give in. Domination is your weakness. Biting, scratching, clawing, nibbling; it’s all fair game. I sink my talons right into your sheath. Oh I feel you fangs. They are beneath on me in me apart of me. I kiss you once more. My tongue lifts the bloody remains right off your molars. Now is the time to strip of our inheritance. No clothing, No companion, No looking back. With you in an upright position, I straddle you as if going for a Sunday afternoon ride. Sinking lower onto the emotional flourish, it’s almost like creating our own firework show. We are thriving, rubbing, grinding, thrusting, pushing, pulling, twisting, turning. It’s a circus. We are the main act. We are the exhibit. We are each other’s biggest fan.