“Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.”

Frida Kahlo

You must take care when being devoured.
A delicate process requires a steadfast masochist,
disgust, and a wholesome welcoming in of all darkness
and dampness that is in you.

When they met, the tension was so thick
their eyes dropped to each other’s shoes.
They became deeply absorbed in their bodies, their presence.
They were so close to one other that when one breathed in,
the other’s breath hitched.

It was a matter of libations, musical vibrations,
and whispered bribes that brought them near
the bathrooms, near the overly drunk and the egregious.
A matter of seconds and both lost every bet they made with themselves.

But what are bets except challenges? She bet herself
to not just break, but to break even with her heartplay;
he bet himself that the next girl he saw, he would devour.
But he found magic in her belly, in the angle of her shoulder and the supple way her thigh gave way to his hands.  She allowed footfalls across her doorsteps and the loud slams from the refrigerator door.
He found that devouring her would cause her to disappear, he had to make a meal of her; lingering over every new smell, every bite of a sound she made,
over every dance closer to him and his mouth.

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