When I got home Take was curled up like a cat on the living room floor. He was striped with the sunshine from the blinds. I could tell he was dreaming because his face was tight and his eyes were moving back and forth. He had started sleeping on the floor a few days ago. He said my spirit was enveloping while he slept and he couldn’t dream like that. I was devouring him. I looked at my hands. My knuckles were red. I had chipped nails and tattered cuticle beds. My palms had nail punctures that looked like eyeless smiley faces. I felt numb. I was a glutton and needed to devour him. I couldn’t understand why he wanted to stop now-now that I was fearless. I rolled up his pant leg to inspect the early scab and bruising from the candle holder. It was an amazing collage of fresh and congealed blood. Blackened ruby discs speckled along the edge of the wound and a broken shard of igneous rock in the center. He was so beautiful, he would have a scar. I blew on it to see the clear liquid ripple and swirl. My fascination with him had been renewed. “Cre, what are you doing?” Take croaked. “Falling in love with your scab.” I purred. I kissed gently around his wound then rolled his pant leg back down. “You ok?” “No. What you think?” “Motherfucker it ain’t about what I think it’s about what you feel. You idiot !” “I said no. I’m not ok.” He sat up and pulled his leg away from me to arrest the fondling. It upset me that he was shunning my touch, I was moist and agitated. "I was watching you dream. You dream like there is a hell." I slurred as I jabbed my tongue into my bite wound. It made me salivate. | 
