The apple of my eye
He returned from Seattle today. I didn't see him until recently. At the moment I suppose he's in his room unpacking a few things, or maybe smoking weed and staring out his window. We have a date for later; a dinner-date. My darling it is you who is for dinner, apple of my eye. I shall fix you in a phrase and consume you in an educated glance. Like a long noodle I will inhale you, spear you and tangle your intestines on my fork. This is called attachment; these are the quiverings of your ridiculous infatuation. These are the lepidoptera your vocabulary falls back on. I wish I could reveal how ruthless I am. But I'm not sure you realize yet that you're a masochist. My beautiful victim. Let me kiss your lips, John the Baptist.