Quiver

Imagine a tongue. Starting from your knee and trailing-up your thigh. Each second is a minute and you can feel each follicle stand erect in waves. Every exhale is course and shallow. Inhale, your honeyed fellow. Fingertips are God's wands, and your skin becomes a trap, luring and incapacitating. You're hot yet you shiver, and you feel weak though passionate. And all of this is just from looking. Whew.