Muse

The night is balmy yet I shiver. I shiver in anticipation of what is to come. It is murder, planned in cold blood to rid me of the innocence that has for so long surrounded and plagued me. It is gruesome death yet I will smile through the entire process. Yes, there will be death tonight, but in many ways, I will also be reborn.

Then again I have been dying little by little the past few days. It is a fate I have brought upon myself ever since I agreed to your visitation. Ah, yes, your visitations which will rival the visions people have of any saint. You are like a vision yourself, with your coquettish smile and taunting ways. I am enthralled by your vision, even more so by what I feel when I touch you, on those times you actually let me touch you. Your smooth, alabaster skin speaks of purity yet I know you are hardly chaste. You are worldlier than all the Biblical harlots combined but I still worship your body, your essence. As my fingers run down your smooth skin, I can hardly contain my excitement.  I tug at your clothes, hesitating, hardly believing you are allowing me to do this. I kiss your neck and breathe in your fragrance mingled with a hint of sweat; I want more. I fight the resistance to rip off the garments covering your body because I know my enthusiasm will never be equal to your power. You will consume me, I am aware of that, so I continue taking in your body little by little, loving you inch by inch.

I am heady with exhilaration; I know we have barely begun. You have a lot more to show me and I remain steadfast in my prayer to endure what will happen next. You sigh a little and I look up, expecting to see you with your eyes half-open, but they are wide and are pointedly staring at me. I take it as an invitation to be bolder. Cupping your breast, I marvel at how it has remained firm even after nursing ten children. Suddenly, I am envious of your offsprings. They have satisfied their hunger with the milk that comes from you, and I want to experience what they have experienced. I hungrily suck on a teat, but I am not content. If anything, I am more famished now than I was before. I want you, all of you, but I know I cannot have you fully. I can only have what you decide to give to me.

My mouth reaches yours, and greedily I drink in your beauty. I will never have enough of you, you know that. Forgive me if my tight hold is bruising your arms. I can no longer control myself. I have descended into madness which no asylum can treat. Let me devour you. Sliding a hand in between your legs, I realize that you have long been ready and waiting, I just did not hear your pleas. Laying you carefully on the ground (for not even my wantonness will take away my respect for you), I brace myself for the pleasure and exhaustion. Finally, I enter you and it is sweeter than I ever thought it would be. I try to match my movements with the grinding of your hips but you are too fast, too experienced for me. Your face is devoid of any reaction but I am certain this is not due to frigidity; you are only concentrating on giving me what I can take. I want more. I need more. Please, give me more.

Almost too soon, we are done. I collapse in fatigue and mutter to myself that I will never do it again but within hours, I am back to wanting you. You cannot stay long, even as I beg and whimper. You have done your job, you say. It is time for me to try it with others, but I am afraid. They might not experience the same joy I have experienced with you. All my arguments are for naught, because you have already disappeared, leaving me wanting for more.

I knew what was going to happen; we planned this. Something died in me, but something was also born, and with it, a craving that will never be satiated. I yearn for you day and night, I curse you during those times you do not come to me, but I renew my passion for you with each time you are kind enough to throw a glance my way. I anxiously await your sporadic visits, cursing my own mania. All this disappears when you arrive and I am once again consumed by your splendor.

This is madness. This is an obsession I willfully embrace. This is beauty.

This is life.

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