Taking the tip of her finger in my mouth, up to the first knuckle. A kiss, then a nibble, and then the slow tension and release of teeth breaking the skin.
Biting off her fingers, joint by joint, savoring the burst of hot fluid between my teeth.
Her breathy gasps urge me on. I want to rush. I want to savor. Her taste drives me to such conflicting impulses.
Her visits never last for long. I just want to take as much of her into me as I can, making her a part of me as much as possible before she’s gone again.
A ripping of metacarpal-sheathing flesh tears a ragged cry from lips stained black. The inky flood escaping my mouth stains mine to match.
The more I swallow, the easier it gets, the more real I become.
Teeth sharpen. Eyes blink and split.
Closer. Closer.
Cries become shrieks become a sobbing song to fill the ears and goad me on.
She is mine. I converge with her, finding more of myself with each of her visits.
With one last crack of bone and gulp of slithering innards, the song ends.
I will have to be sated for now.