I withered, waiting for him, on the floor. First there was one bug, that came out of my forearm, then another from my nipple, then another from my ear. Soon, my entire body was covered in invisible insects, and I disturbed my bed made of unchopped yellow onions. I was doomed, caught in an avalanche of this putrid vegetable, bugs covering my body, and he was still no where in sight.
The warmth woke me up. The desire to have glowing honey hugging the inside of my throat made me come out of my self-made nightmare. I think about his waterfall legs, the creamy body of a tree, a lackluster pool of tar for eyes. The sun came out after the terrorizing darkness that winter bestowed upon us with its frozen heart.
He feels so much. He feels fantastical lifetimes worth of love and death, stories of the flesh and wooden swings, kisses on mountains. 'Bravo, lionlady,' he said when he left. 'We have killed the tiger'.