My blood has turned to poison and the poison runs in my veins, making me squirm and twitch. Lust is a slow killing poison that was infused in my blood with your eyes flamed with desire. Your bite is more perilous than any snake, your sting more deadly than scorpions. The fingers that scour me are thornier than the tentacles of any spider, and nails that add friction to my flesh making fireworks that no welding can make. Heartbeat rising up with each passing moment as the thin sheen of mist from your musky frame settles on smoldering skins. The coal black eyes smoking like embers, melting my insides faster than camphor, pooling around the solar plexus. There’s fire on my skin and I’m alive only as I burn, and the heat rises up to engulf me and purge conscious thought. It’s stepping back into an older world, another life, where before I had civility and reason I had this gnawing want and this irresistible compulsion to satisfy primal needs. I want to reach out and ruin something beautiful so no one else can ever have it the same way I did. I want something, firm or brittle, that breaks when I grasp it and flows around me, desperately borrowing my own strength and rebuilding itself with pieces of me in ways I’m pleased by. I want to own something, in such a terrible and absolute way that it can’t be undone. A buzzing in my intoxicated, fire-seared brain, electricity that arcs down my spine and sets my hair to rising, tingling in my fingertips that lead to aggressive sparks with every grab and caress. I want to mark and scar and bruise and bite, I want to growl and shake and yield and strike, I want to cover and expose and bend and subjugate. I want wide eyes, trembling hands, parted lips, and the sigh of the faithful when looked up at him as he looks to me like the sky. Tell me you want different, tell me your needs are not same. Say out loud that you do not yearn for what I yearn, that my cravings are not yours. A predator, running on an unstoppable instinctive lust to feed on her prey. My every sense sharpens, I feel smarter even as I’m dumber. I hear differences in pitch and inflection, the notes of masculinity; I see the faint paling of skin, the vengeful eyes, or the little brushes of a tongue across my lips; I feel the increase in body heat, the shifting of weight, the hardness of tendons, the stiffness of muscles, the flush off skin; I swear, though this may be delusion, when I’m in the zone I even smell and taste it, arousal and hunger and thirst.