v u l v a l i c i o u s
Teeth marks on a pale white neck
When I start dreaming about necks, it means I've started moving on.
There's the way that the pulse throbs just so, three fingers away from the collarbone. The way a chain draws itself around a throat, two times, three, the clasp catching on a round silver charm. I wonder if it's a saint's medallion, think about pulling it closer, breathing in metal and softness.
I think about biting through, see pictures of teeth marks and bruises when I close my eyes. My jaw has been caught lately, and I imagine releasing the tension slowly that way--bite, release, bite release, in time with the blood pumping to the brain through the carotid artery.
It's not the blood I'm looking for, just the tenderness of the neck, exposed and vulnerable. It's feeling someone moving underneath me. I'm alive, moving. I'm the pulse I'm tracking with my teeth.