I hate seeing poetry in everything I touch. I hate that I can no longer love you without turning you into a metaphor - that it can never be simple as looking at you and saying yes, yes, yes.
His hand glides down my arm, folds over my hand. His fingers lace with mine, palms kissing. I can feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.
You've maddened me for you...have changed everything. So, I'm going to f*ck you long and hard, beauty, because if I'm to be enslaved by you-I want to be your master as well.
And just then Damon stepped out of the coat closet, and at the same time Aunt Maggie tripped him neatly and said, Bathroom door beside you, and picked up a vase and hit the rising Damon over the head with it. Hard.
