What monstrous thing has it become? Formless, whispering and chittering in the dark, driven insane by unbelievable circumstance. Its words (your words) crawling over me - a swarm of angry thoughts that nip and bite and burrow.
The stranger mistakes my desperate grasp for lust - in moments we are lost in one another. A hot burst of life against the night. For that instant I feel release and released. For that brief moment I am alive and free.
But in the final sex-rattle, the convergent lust-spasm, why do I name my demon? Why is it always your name I scream into the dark?
