The Wanting (the much improved REVISED version)

Submitted by Zo-chan on Tue, 05/01/2012 - 3:41pm

Swirling colors,
red and gold,
the colors of the fire that burns low in the hearth because the two tending it have
better,
better things to do on that cold winter night,
whirl and tumble in our Heroine's body,
giggling and
whispering,
before settling low in her belly.
Flickers of heat tracing
lines throughout her veins,
mobilizing her
shimmering, salty-sweat skin
as she curves her spine, neck stretching,
arms reaching
out of greed.
Her toes,
not forgotten,
curl against the bare
floor, that she is clinging to
for dear sanity.
Our Heroine is nervous; see how she
shakes, jitters, fidgets
out of eagerness.
The Wanting has her now, oh yes,
deep in its belly it has her.
She can't breathe; the Wanting is a thick gas;
she struggles for air, trapped in its clutches.
Someone else,
some new, bolder girl,
is inside her now.
She wants to let go, this girl,
let go of all thought and be consumed
by greed.
The Wanting is strong;
see how her eyes are black-bright,
devouring their target whole and saving nothing for leftovers.
Fingernails clawing at the
empty air,
searching for their target, who is so far away.
She is desperate now, on the verge of
violence,
a sweet violence akin to something else entirely.
She wants what she wants,
wants to mark what she wants,
wants proof that
she
claimed
him
She can't sit still now.
She is ready for him, but he not for her.
She perseveres, hunting, energy singing
through her limbs and belly.
She wants to get rid of that energy,
because the Wanting makes the huntress violent,
and she does not want to scare her prey.
But the Wanting wants her to want that violence;
wants her to want him to appreciate that violence.
That new,
bold female - how dare she intrude?
How dare she whisper words of violet-colored violence?
But is she, in fact, new?
The Wanting sings throughout our Heroine's soul,
her legs shift restlessly, waiting, waiting,
waiting to pounce
and eat living her unsuspecting prey.
The sweet taste of his flesh is what she craves, oh yes,
a delicacy that she has never desired more.
His eyes she will leave intact;
she wants him to see her as she triumphs over him.
She wants to hurt him,
hurt him,
hurt him with the kind of pain akin to the heat that sings through her belly,
that makes the Wanting stronger.
But our Heroine is not that bold.
Our Heroine is in pain,
endless, lung-shattering agony;
this violence, this Wanting,
it is too much to leave
untended.
This Wanting wants out.
This Wanting wants to explode
out of the brush, the tigress, eating whole the helpless young elk,
before it has grown to its
full, meaty, delicious potential.
One must let the elk graze,
to fatten them up, prepare them,
for their fiery ending at the jaws of the wanting, wanting tigress.
She, the tigress, knows this, knows not to feast prematurely.
But if she waits too long,
she will have missed the season,
starving,
fueled only by the wishful Wanting,
until that Wanting builds,
a bomb, filled with the Wanting to dominate,
and then this Wanting,
this ever-present Wanting,
will end this girl’s story, as suddenly as
A gunshot.
A yell of desperation:
“I WANT YOU!”