pulsing

blood coursing
boiling point
pulsing
the waiting
the imagining
always the best part
of the encounter
burning skin
i can sense the charring and the darkening
of the colors
the colors of fantasy
fantasizing
the encounter
so hot
from the burning
burning desire
so hot
it becomes pain
bitter and sweet
pain
with the pulses
quickened and the visions
blurred
anticipating a taste
the taste so real
like blood from a bitten lip
from a lover from 300 miles away
from a dream far from reality
from the body far from reach
the bitten lip
dripping blood
the taste
far from unreality
pulsing