All-Encompassing

It’s so simple, like the hue of oranges, like citrus in the back of your throat. It burns. I want to drag his skin through my teeth, taste the salt trailing from the corners of his eyes, lick the genius from the slightly-parted, mellifluous quality between his lips. I want to drain the green from his pupils and the silken-purity silver from the stars, and smear it over my face till I run red with the rawness in it – until I am saturated with what I most love. I crave his mind, the stormglory-scent of his soul, the incineration he injects with his breath, the fire-pulse just beneath the surface. I stand beneath the aridity of some god-forsaken slice of sky, and I scream for rain because I thirst and I gnaw my own bones as they ache - I consume myself with hunger – and I rip my hair from the root, matted with longing, but release no internal pressure. I become a black hole, a vortex of clenched fists, cracking flesh, his name unfurling like the sun against the curled-paper walls of my lungs – his taste beating like the oxygen in my blood.