In me a dry desert, dunes riding up and down, looking up to the heavens, nothing, going down to the valleys, nothing. I’m parched awaiting the touch, a startle, a hint of moisture to awaken my senses. Nothing. I wake up see a crumpled duvet and sheets stinking of my oils, the same odor, the same musk. I can’t. But I have to. What else is there?

Lingered, his scent still evokes a carnal rumbling in me. I want to eat him up, to have him inside of me, a part of me. I want his touch to stay on my skin. I don’t want to let him go.

When I go in for the kiss, I inhale the natural musk that marinates in his body oils. I want that smell forever. I want to suffocate in it.

Have I said anything about what’s bubbling inside?

When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the person looking back — a monstrous thing that has finally emerged from the depths of my consciousness.

I blink, hoping with each moment it will go away. But I know it will be with me forever.

I spent the last year trying to run away from the ogre. When that failed, I just sat and waited for the damn thing to overtake me. It never did. And I sat and waited. Waited. Sat.

Even my monsters don’t want to eat me.

We see each other. Or rather, you see me look at you. I turn my head away abruptly. As if you wouldn’t notice. Hah.

If I wasn’t so self-conscious, so worried about your reaction or the reactions of ordinary people, I would just look at you. Just look at how you move. How you move your hand to arrange your wayward hair. Your fingers as you itch the nape of your neck.

I imagine your scent and want to see if I’m right.

But I will just walk on by and get back to my chair and do what I need to do and let this memory drift past into the ether.