Current mood:	cynical
Current music:	4th of july//aimee mann

and she's got the river down which i sold her...
sitting in class, paying attention, but barely breaking a brain sweat. i've got room enough in here to think of you, and columbus at the same time. we're reading the letters he sent back to spain, detailing his travails in the new world. and because i am bored, and because i am thinking of you, my tongue becomes an explorer, intrepidly spelunking the cavern it inhabits, the white porcelain stalactites it takes for granted.

cortes, pisarro, magellan. flick, swish, slide.

i tongue my mouth and wonder if this is what it feels like to your tongue. i think of the names of the teeth. canines like fangs. i tongue the sharp teeth and i feel powerful, like a predator. female lions are the huntresses. i imagine sinking my teeth into your neck so hard i hear the crunch of life resisting being compacted. i imagine us laying under a tree in africa, your blood dripping from my parched mouth, not nearly quenching me, as the sun burns my eyes. why, then, do i always end up as the prey? if i've learned anything from the discovery channel its that the strong feed on the weak ones. the sick ones. the slow ones. the young. the defenseless. the ones not old enough to have formed a powerful attachment to life. the ones with a secret death wish, unknown to even themselves.

i must want it.

i must want you on top of me, pressing so i can't breathe, killing me, dying a hundred little deaths, one with each wave of motion. want you to desecrate my little masoleum, defile the dead with your life, escaping from you, belonging then to me.

if i opened my mouth now, if i moved my tongue to tap the teeth to speak to you, i'm not sure if i would say "i love you" or "i hate you".

and so i keep it shut, and bite my tongue with my canines until i can taste my blood, coppery like a new penny. i listen about columbus but all i can think now is

this is what desire tastes like.