channagirl

Touch. Fade in. Flick out. Touch. Touch. Scroll. Check again. Make sure. Touch. Reach. Plug In. Charge. Radio silence. Leave. Come back. Pick up. Touch. Nothing. Put down. Buzz. Pause. Buzz. Pause. Buzz— Rush to respond, Mind worked into a Pavlov-lather. Touch. Accept. Hello? Sorry wrong number. Touch. Deflate. Leave again. Come back. Touch. Reinforce the conditioning. Touch. Further. Touch. Further. Touch. Plug in. Touch. Sleep.

Don’t look a serpent in the eye. You’ll be rendered breathless, Transfixed by its arresting, gold-flecked gaze, Crouched beneath the loom of coiled convolutions. Don’t be cajoled by rows and ranks of glinting scales, Or by armor-plated smiles, Because all that glittering gives way to a beautifully blissful end. Beautiful. But still an end. Then the regal head bobs and sways, And sends a song across the hardwood, Just low enough...just slow enough... That you’re swallowed by the yawning void where time and place abandoned you, With nothing—but an ache for fangs on flesh.