It slowly eats at you. Consumes you. Like arctic water caressing a glacier. Like a piece of magma being gargled in the throat of a volcano. Like a thirsty dog lapping a water puddle. You feel it deep down inside. It cools your core. It burns your skin. It may not always be ablaze. This feeling may flicker from time to time. The light of a candle in a still room. The way it dances when the invisible touches it. The other side of a pillow when you flip it. Peeling the wrapper from around a warm muffin. Watching as she slides off her rings and rubs lotion over her hands.

Entering her bubble is like walking into a spiders web that you did not see. Instead of freaking out, you want to get tangled even more. You are each other’s cocoon.

This feeling comes out of somewhere. A place far from nowhere. It prods my mind. It pokes my body. I swallow wrong. I choke on my spit. Dry gag. Feels like a long stray hair that gets stuck in your mouth. An inch of it tickles the back of your throat. Pulling it out, you realize it is ten feet long. You stare at it before trying to sling it off your finger tips.

This appetite is like a fresh paper cut. An ingrown nail. Slowly grinding the flesh around the sharp edge. Driving pain with each step. An invisible shard sticking the unknown. Knifing itself deeper and deeper into your skin. There’s only one thing you want. Relief. Comfort. Release from the pinch.

Her personal imprint will make you hobble around until you finally give in. Is she testing me?

The thoughts. The craving. They impede my mentality. They hinder my plotted course. Feels like I have sand between my teeth. I clench my jaws. I feel grit. I hear the minuscule pebbles crunch. It’s a mosquito bite in the middle of your back. It itches but you cannot scratch it.

I get sidetracked.

I watch her hands wipe the dishes with a towel. I study her while she gently brushes on nail polish. I look at her exterior while she lays out in her bikini under the sun. She breaks off a piece of dark chocolate and slowly crunches it. Bittersweet. She bites the tip of a strawberry. Sweetbitter. She mispronounces a common word. I bring it up months later. It’s still funny. She does things. Quirky. Irresponsible. Wild. Carefree. Original. Can she be mine?

Her mold melted when she came out of the oven.

I take her to the beach. Rolling waves. The call of sea gulls. I wait for the wind to lift her hair. Sea breeze. Salty mist. I wait for the sun to bounce off her sunglasses at the right angle. Her eyes are on fire. I take her to the mountains. This is my home. It’s always cold when we visit. I miss winter’s touch. I wait to see her breath. I smell cedar. I taste mint. We are alone. Desolate. Her body shudders. She bundles up. I’m jealous of her scarf. I want to boa snake around her neck and keep her warm. It hurts my lungs to breathe her in. A good hurt. A hurt you remember weeks down the road.

She’d give me asthma if I let her. TM

The fog rising from her glass of warm coffee, she inhales it through her nose and then her mouth. I get jealous again. Her brown stained lips leaves imprinted evidence on the rim of her mug. I wait for it to dry. I act inconspicuous. She leaves the room. I wipe my finger over it. It’s stuck. Glued. Frozen in time. For me and my imagination. I put up police tape. Our house is a crime scene now. I scrape the tracks of her evidence with the edge of my fingernail. It flakes off piece by piece like weathered chalk. I smell the shavings. Hazelnut coffee and Colgate toothpaste. Humans are curious creatures.

Curiosity kills cats but it breathes life into the monotony of repeats. She pushes play and leans back.

Her mannerisms. The way she carries her body. The way she curls up in a blanket on the couch. A nest. The way she dries her hair after a shower. A wet nest. The way her face looks while she sleeps. A muse. Some would label me stalker. Peeping tom. Creepo. Weirdo. Crazy. Whatever! She opens her eyes, smiles, and nods back to her subconscious. Safety is a front porch hammock on a rainy day (TM). Certain labels mean nothing now. I am a vandal! A bandit! If loving her is criminal, do I commit a misdemeanor when I know I’ll be a felon before night’s end? I’ve already said too much. I hear sirens approaching.

She takes out her handcuffs and says, “Sir, you have the right to remain silent!”

I turn around and immediately surrender to this role play. She catwalks over and pins me against the nearest surface. She puts her mouth behind my ear and whispers.

“Anything you say will and can be used against you in a court of law!”

I already know my rights. I have none. She’s the judge. The jury. The prosecutor. The defendant. The bailiff. The detention officer. The warden. The parole board. This is a life sentence.

The thump. The rap. The beat. The knock. Bump – bump. Bump – bump. Bump – bump. A heartbeat. I lay my ear closer to her naked chest. I hear drumming. An indigenous tribe. The low thudding of blood being pumped throughout her shell. I find a lifeline. A vein. Her pipeline. An endless supply. I put my finger over it to feel her pulsate and hear her heartbeat at the same time. Her body is warm electric. She plays with my hair. I breathe. She breathes. We breathe. I could fall asleep if the moment were not so perfect to stay awake in. She wraps me in knots like a tangled fishing line.

The harder you pull, the tighter it gets.

I’ve never seen a crumb stick to her face nor anything hanging out of her nose. Royally pristine. Primp. Proper. She points out my mishaps on a daily basis. I’m a pig. Not misogyny. Not fresh pack of bacon. More like a pet. Seven beads of sweat and a couple specks of dirt or grass and she’s ready to drain the hot water heater. The shower head sends warm rain down onto her bareness. Rebirth. The water collects on her body. Press START for new game. She looks like a freshly waxed vehicle (TM). Player 2 hit START. Wind blown beads are forced down into the drain. Gravity. Pulling it down. Deeper. And deeper. And deeper. Until you can see it no more!

“Close your eyes and imagine what I’m about to say or leave them open and imagine, it’s all the same to me,” I tell her. She blinks. Her eyes remain open.

I watch her stretch. She’s elastic. Like a rubber band that’s been laying on a hot sidewalk. Like stepping on a fresh wad of summertime chewing gum in your favorite shoes. Like a used bungee cord. I watch her yawn. She has the jaws of a crocodile. She could swallow a mountain. An entire javelin. She could consume me whole then spit out my bones. But she doesn’t. She lets me live. Why? Torture, I say! Chains bolted to a damp stone wall. A bucket in the corner. Very little sunlight. Long nights of unrest. She intends to keep me shackled forever and make me a laborer of her lusts. She’s greedy like that.

There’s no use having a dungeon unless you have a prisoner to confine inside it. TM

Combined, we are the rarest creation. She stares and turns everything into stone. I touch and turn everything into gold. Together, we make valuable objects of affection. Chunks of expensive stones that appeal to everyone’s eyes, yet they cannot have them. Or own them. They are pieces of us that we share with one another. Sparkling. This prize cannot be mined. Reflecting in the sun. Or dug up. Flashing. Our love cannot be weighed by the ounce. Or held in the palm of your hand. Or made into jewelry. It can only be discovered at the right place, at the right time. Gold! There’s gold everywhere! I look around. Are we the only lovers performing this tangible alchemy?

I think highly that we are because when we work, we work hard!

Like a butterfly winging about, landing on petals, soaking up the flower, she walks around. A busy wasp with a stinger. Dipping her antenna into whatever sweet nectar she can find. A bumblebee buzzing about. Boring into solid wood. Finding pollen to feed its hive. This queen leaves her comb and takes her honey where she sees fit. Gooey. Sticky. Sweet. Sought after. A cure. Slowly oozing out if the lid is ever taken off the jar and turned upside down. How does the world look if I do that? A rush of blood to my extremities.

My fingers and toes feel fuzzy and numb like fresh novocaine. TM

Wait! I smell something. It’s her perfume! No. Hairspray! No. She’s taking a shower! Nope! She’s somewhere close. If I can’t hear her, I can smell her. Baking cookies. Suntan lotion. A peeled banana. Sweat. Her aura. I know I’m sitting at the house alone right now. But am I ever really alone? Is her invisible doppelgänger breathing on the hairs of my neck? Tickle. Did I just feel her nose graze my lower ear lobe? Tickle. I feel butterflies now. Tickle. She’s come to steal my sugar. Her stinger prods and pumps poison under my skin. The itch burns but is only temporary.


If she were a vegetable, would you peel her? Slice her? Dice her? Cut her into small pieces? Or leave her whole?

If she were a fruit, would you dig in with your teeth or let it ripen?

If she were a piece of meat, would you splatter sauce on your plate to dab her in or hold off?

A true carnivore savors the flavor that the seared skin contains! TM

Then again, I could be wrong (highly doubtful).

I squeeze a sponge until it bubbles with suds. I rinse it off. I squeeze it again just for the effect. The faucet drips. It cleanses me. I hear her ask me what I’m doing. I close my eyes. I pretend I didn’t hear her. She gets off the couch. She confronts me. I squeeze the sponge. Bubbles. Sudsy. Drip. I keep ignoring her. She will not have this. Bubbles. Drip. She sneaks up behind me, tickles me, yet I do not retreat. Drip. I turn around, sling foam on her, and grab her. She acts surprised. Drip. What if the devil did not exist in the details? Drip. What if the devil would be me ignoring this moment and letting it go to waste.


Damn that devil!


I share random conversations with her. Talking. Words. Endless adjectives. Her hugs can be lethal in today’s world. Embrace. Exchange. Like two cushions plowing against one another. A physical kiss from her seals the envelope but is too easy. Skin. Aftertaste. There’s something deadlier! Exchanging a grin with her. In person. When you see the corners of her mouth lift. When she knows and you know so both of you know. The mind wanders. She catches your eye. You do something to catch hers. Our eyes might lie but the mouth does not. It cannot. It will not.

You could replace her teeth with nails, yet the fish will still bite the bait if it wants to. TM

I could mow the entire yard down to bedrock. Put the equipment up. Wipe the sweat from my brow. Take off my sweaty clothes. Chug my water until I waterboard myself. Then it happens. She happens. I notice a tiny patch I forgot to cut. I shake my head, lightly cuss, and give up. She is that patch. She tests your patience. She cries out for trimming. Still growing. Still teasing. Sticking up in the middle of the yard like a thousand year old California Redwood. Waving a loving middle finger at you. Motioning you over to her bubble with that same middle finger. Back to her web. She grins. I scoff. I want to give up and leave. I stutter step. This is our cha-cha.

She shows you the whites of her teeth. The nails waiting to stick you with tetanus. Always holding something together until it breaks in half. That ‘it’ being ‘me’. All me and her can see are those golden nuggets that we could cash in. She stares. I touch. Combined, our creation.

In nature, showing your teeth is a sign of aggression. With humans, it can go either way. With vampires, hell, it’s everyday practice. With dentist, it’s part of the job.

For me and her, well, it’s a gentle hello and a heavy goodbye.

You know why?

It all boils down to one word.




Gold – Chet Faker

The official video for this song is worth a YouTube search. Don’t believe me? I hope you like rollerskating!

2 Replies to “INfatUatiON”

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