Prelude

Third and final preview from the new Zoe Dean short story collection, Then You Say Please.

He asks you,
“What does it feel like?”

A reasonable question;
But how do you answer?

It’s a constant, pressing need
A pilot light waiting to grow
Ignite to an inferno

How could you express that desire in words
Explain the claiming, aching hunger
That will devour you if not satiated

You pull him to you
With patience you do not have
And slowly describe
How the fire feels under your skin

Do you bite?
Do you beg?
Plead,

Or attack?

Because language is sighs and grunts,
Moans and screams
Tangles of limbs and sweat,
Fingers in hair,
Squeezing around skin,
Pinning the claws against his back.

Jaws snapping,
Thighs squeezing.
A roar that could be yours or his,
Or never have happened at all

Yet in the after,
In the quiet stillness
Where time could be measured in seconds,
minutes,
or hours,
And still all feel the same
He still wants to know.

So, you suppose,
You will have to show him
All over again

Until he finally extinguishes the flame