THE GUEST V

Delicious.

Your guest sneaks in, all secret unexpected wonder. Sliding up to your table, sitting in their blackened flaming chair with a comfort and ease that would strike any other guest with a well aimed spear of jealousy. The verbal delinquency is a delightful lashing of the mind, the soul, a yearning for transition to the body. Your guest gives blatant vulnerability in unexpected gestures, thorned vines, covered in edible ornaments. And your mouth is adventurous. Each burnt offering comes together in the night. Your hands, black and sticky with red dripping sap. The silhouette always shaping into something infinitely familiar. The ash is staining your fingernails. But the sap is delicious and you lap at it with lazy satisfaction, eyes closed as your skin listens to the echo of delight. And here sits a dangerous satisfaction, the glinting edge of a self sharpened knife. The night is turning to daylight, the flaming chair is smoldering, wafts of smoke carried in the air, and the sunlight comes creeping in, all sweet and comforting warm, a feeling you want to know forever.

END PTV