#spare

100 words for Wank Wendesday. –M

Here faithfully when hunger will not spare you even in sleep,
manifest essence of pure desire.

I descend
to the nimbus,
kirlian aura,
just above your skin, raising the small hairs,
making gooseflesh, though it is warm here.

Like static I hiss into your ear, and, slowly, you shift,
sigh,
part,
well.

For want.
For me.

You’ll be ready for when I plunge;
invasive, primal urgency, saving nothing.

I need you to be, so that you come around me before you wake, and I dispell.
You’ll feel me still, the fading ozone scent marking my passage,
like a departed thunderstorm.