I said I would write no more on this.
This subject of social taboo.
I told myself not to entertain such things.
Such things as this idea of mere infatuation
Being more then a fantasy

But I have to ask
Why do you yearn for my venom in your viens?
You know I am the virus
which is the anti body to the disease.
Destroying the cultivated strain.

Infecting all I touch, even you.
The virus itself is contaminated.
Shhhh, listen. Cant you hear that? The little whisper?
Thats my voice caressing your every thought.

Do you yearn for my touch?
My nails in your spine?
Or perhaps your linger on a deeper desire?
One of truth.
One of openings.

Do you yearn to crawl into my skin?
See my worms crawl.
In. Out. Left . Right. Up and DOwn.
Perhaps you would like to see how I tick?
Watch the gears turn.

Play with my mind.
Dig your fingers in deep.
Dont mind the stick grease sensation.
Its merely past ' dontations '
Dont fret my pet,
They all volunteered for the job.

Why do you yearn my dear?
Is it how well we blend?
Is it how I strike home,
with my supposedly calculated moments?

Or perhaps its nothing more,
Than an intense yearning for the exotic.

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