Reptilian - April 9 2022

 

Reptilian

April 9 2022

There is only so much

a human brain can process

at once.

So somewhere

in the deep dark recess

of my subconscious mind,

as synapses flash and gears grind,

membranes depolarize

and ions flux,

my eyes focus,

ears exclude,

touch habituates.

The background fades.

Sound wanes

until all that remains

is white noise.

And my body seems to levitate,

the pressure

of my back against the bed

no longer there,

as if time and space

had somehow condensed

to an infinitely small point.

Only your words

whispered in my ear

have salience.

The feel of your hair

when it brushes my face.

Your tongue, probing mine,

hands

finding their way.

And somehow smell, the most primeval sense

overwhelms.

Just a whiff of your scent,

and memories

I thought long had left

become achingly real.

I have been rightfully accused

of over-thinking,

of head before heart.

So how exhilarating

this laser-like focus

on pure sensation feels,

the ease of surrender

freedom from thought.

Gnarled and shrunken

and curled-up tight,

the reptilian brain

deep in mine

has been shocked awake

from its vestigial sleep.

I'm a cold-blooded creature

nestling into your heat,

a ravenous animal

greedy for you.