I’ve rediscovered the word lascivious: given to or expressing lust.
You inspire the elegance of the enforced stop; the tragic demise; the regulation of self, mirrored in the eyes of the person clutching your throat for dear life.
I am not yet ready to devour.
Although, I found myself thinking of you on my patio, in your dress, your leg over my shoulder.
You have a pulse that runs along the inside of of your thigh, the femoral pulse.
Right, here.
Oh … lascivious is an utterly lovely word.
(new link to where stone becomes water. I think I am done moving. I think).
I like libidinous better, but you know that.