(no subject)

I keep thinking about the Hound of the Hedges from The Circus of Dr. Lao. The product of love among the privets and underbrush, mute vegetal lust made solid. Been thinking about Pan, too... and Selene. What I've been feeling lately, while strange in that I haven't felt anything like this in a very long time, also feels completely natural, and strangely organic. I feel like a flower, open and ready, trembling at the wing-currents of each passing bee or moth. Like a dead tree I saw in a friend's photo, on the surface it doesn't look like there's anything unusual occurring, but I can feel each cell pulsing through my veins like grubs or ants, a continual stream of life. I am a datura, voluptuous and rank in the desert where succulence this should not grow.

I feel round and white and full, but insatiable. A thirst I can never slake, a hunger I can never satisfy. The feeling of my own thighs brushing together sends shivers up my spine, I run my hands down the sides of my breasts and flanks and belly just for the thrill. My own scent, creamy and musky with an undertone of amber and vanilla makes me long for a man's skin, his tangy animal sweat mingled in my own melange of flesh and fire.