phantom crush

My dearest. Sometimes I wish I didn't know what was going to happen. Sometimes I wish my luck would run out, that the steering wheel would come right off, just like in the toons. Mortal danger. Just a little dose. Nothing too heavy. Just a taste and then bring me back, flushed, slightly dazed, palms wet, struck like lightning.

Imagine. Me and you. I do.

Seduction. How I would pity thee. We'd stalk each other at parties for a while. You are perhaps hundreds of years wiser: the routine is tiresome, almost boring. A foregone conclusion but ritual must be fulfilled: nods acknowledged, legs must be brushed, lips bit, and eventually, tongues will be tied - with other tongues.

Days, even weeks, will pass. You'd begin to wonder, but no no no I am not like those other creatures, vulgar beings. Be patient, you delicious trollop. I won't step quite so predictably in to your arms. I will stumble in to them and then embarrassed, claim ignorance. I even half-feign surprise. And then... yes, a foregone conclusion.

In gentler times, I would have lamented the taking of innocents. But this is not the day. Today I see red, red everywhere. And hearts must be slayed.