close your eyes.
feel, don’t see.
i want your senses to play musical chairs and have sight to be the one left standing, walking away alone when the music stops.
see the words with the depth of so much more than simple, deceptive sight.
let the words dance in your spirit instead of across your vision
don’t interpret them with intellect; let them tell you their story through tingles and shivers.
feel them in the rush of your pulse or the exhales that leave you spent.
revel in the letters and syllables and lines on the pages as they cast a nonsensical net over your mind and drag you into their depths.
let your fingertips dance over the smoothness of the words, barely caressing them as you pull them in closer to you.
grip them harshly, devour them and savour them.
decimate them with your lust for what they harbour, what they hide.
feel how they squirm under the intensity of your scrutiny and discovery.
soak in them, immerse yourself, don’t dare to consider trying to find release.
taste the bitterness of them rise up in your throat as you try to swallow them down and make them disappear when they’re too much.
dive into the darkness, swim deep into the chilly waters they offer.
relish the sweetness of them as your tongue embraces their offerings to your soul.
consume them.
sit in the discomfort they show you as they rip apart the edges of where you try to hide.
be terrified of their depth, their height, their darkness, and leap into them anyways.
shudder as the goosebumps appear on your flesh as their libidinous morsels send shivers down your spine.
be deafened by the pounding of your heart as the words make you want to turn and run,
uncertain if you want to leave them behind or cling to them and hold on for dear life.
be fed, be nourished, be saturated
by the anger, beauty, pain and brilliance that courses through your veins.
carried in the ink that is the beautiful,
rich,
dark,
life-blood of your syllabic circulatory system.
whisky sweet 