Let us talk of hunger.
Share our ideals of what constitute a fine meal. The placement of the instruments which will elevate our feast from sustenance to experience.
Let us sit, here, and discuss the shape and size of our hunger.
Let us.
Let me.
Invite me in. Show me the places your hunger has carved inside of you. The artful erosion of practicality giving way to baser nature. Let me run my fingers along the smooth surfaces of the softer considerations: Your first kiss. Cuddling in a tent. Let me brush my hand over the sharper edges, the one’s that make you bleed when pressed against. How it feels to have a hand braced along your throat, holding you in place, holding you in.
Let me lick the remnants of your restraint from your fingertips.
Let me show you.
Let me re-arrange your pieces until there is enough space for us to feed.
Let me introduce you to my wolf.