Adding “y” to nouns as a suffix gives them an entirely new dimension.
If you were to “attack me,” as they would call it, right now, in this exact moment, I would not paw your chest and let the air vacuum the space between our sticky bodies. I would not bite your lip or open my eyes. I would not lay unresponsive, starfish to predator, spaghetti to fork. I would kiss you back, but I must tell you, it would be the most bitter kiss of my life. You see, I want to savor the time that separates the exact distance it takes for the tips of my eyelashes to reach yours, I want to taste the seconds between your breaths, I want to suffer those long hours in the grip of apprehension when you taste your lips and I lean into them. I do not want your simplicity or your pitying stare. I am not here to take from you. I am here to make something entirely new. The ingredients? My nails on the crescendo of your collarbone, the sun on your teeth in my eyes, long midnight explorations of the dunes and troughs of your hair, and the tears that I mix into the creamy hazelnut of your cheek when you give me that old, old smile, that smile I hope to keep in my hands like a pearl or a secret until we crystalize, new butterflies on the background of black space and hope-like stars that only you can see.
Let me be your parasite
Let me take you in and bite your shoulders hard;
find my teeth tracing your collarbones;
white bones, white flesh,
I want to suck on you with my eyes
trying my hardest to steal any part of you away.
Let me close your eyes to my breath, trust my
cold night air to keep you safe.
I am that selfish leech who would sooner die than
let you go, you’re so warm;
my hands clasp hard on the insides of your elbows
feast on my addiction:
drip a shadow of blood, but
collect my relinquished body and soul.
watch me crumple on the floor in front of
a full moon, transforming by your warmth into
a creature—
thirsty
for the space between your lips.
Let me be your hearty, wholesome, nutrient
darkness (and you can be my white sun)
Emotions.
