Saturday, October 15, 2022 - 5:33 AM

A bit of fantasy.

Who am I? If you know me very well you'll know.

She danced without moving. She caressed every inch of everyone she ever met without moving, she loved passionately without moving, everything was a toy to her through the only tangible things she owned, the strings of curtains always drawn, and the strings attached to my wrists, ankles, neck, and heart, orchestrated by the life she drew from the depths of her guitar; freeing the ghosts you could hear cry, and the sweeping, syrupy, thickness of the emotion she toyed with like clay, or paint, or my eyes, never in any image but what she saw in her own head. She moved slowly, fingers crawling gently along the wood and metal surface of her world: *kumo,* *spider,* satisfied with my blood, fruits of the gift she'd traded for at embryonic crossroads; in exchange I received something that few can distantly dream of. She played all she cared to, alone or for me, and I simply came home and breathed in.

Note that the speaker fantasizes the subject's music more than anything else.

The pointed hints of kinkyness bothered me as I wrote this. I apologize; but I'll let what I'm apologizing for (the kinkyness or the botheredness) be left up to the reader's imagination; mainly because I don't really know myself. In any case, it reeks of *asexual* attraction, so I'll let it slide. Remind me to delete this paragraph.