Now, listen.
Can you hear the grass growing through my body?
Bleak winter sun is engulfing us in its sonorant silence.
There's nobody but you.
Slow your breath.
Count to ten.
Look at me.
All the cities that were catching you in their turbulent vibrant webs are now shattered to pieces.
It was me who did this.
I am uncultured, uncultivated, wild in the most primal way.
You may feed the beast.
My breath is ragged as though I was chasing somebody through these endless fields
and the grass was wrapping around my ankles.
Ruthlessly.
Carnivorous glint covered with the thin fabric of your lips.
Your smile.
Count to ten, the gorgeous one.
Look at me.