I Want To Snuggle Up Against Your Tongue

The dark chocolate dissolves on my tongue.  It smooths out under the pressure of the flexible muscle.  It spreads, deflowering my palate with the musk of vanilla and cacao nibs.  It has been carefully crafted so that it can rest and unmake itself in my mouth.  That is its purpose.  To be lovingly consumed…

What if the same were true for me?  I would love to crawl into some one's mouth and melt.  To dissolve the fear that prevents me from being anything other than what I am.  I look around me, I look within and I see a constant attempt at keeping form.  People pressed into frozen expressions by the freezing of their respective physiognomies.  They pay for surgical paralysis, dipping themselves - like m&ms - in colorful candy shells that don't melt.  I put on my makeup, dab a bit of concealer in the corners of my eyes to brighten the expression.  I don't want anyone to see me melting.  I don't want people to see that I haven't been sleeping, I drank too much last night, I've been lost in the stressful indecision of what to do next...

I'm performing myself, performing Kat Pratt.  The stage name that smiles and flirts, that dances in her candy coating.  But I dress up to be undressed.  I want a real tongue on my real body.  I want someone to enjoy me, not the packaged version.  I don't eat this chocolate just because of the way it looks.  I need to explore its complexity, its depth.  The most enticing flavors go beyond sweet.  They curl like fiddleheads at the bottom of my brain.  They ripple in the language of jellyfish, nesting where my dimples meet my teeth. 

So even though it is a terrifying proposition, please taste me fully.  I want to snuggle up against your tongue, move through the tears of my insecurities and shed the candy shell.

I want you to explore my physical spirit like you might a rare honey or the bloom of a feral cheese.  I want you to pay attention to the secret places - the roof of my belly button, the scent of my inner thigh, the shape of my eyebrows when I am captured by a sonata, the curious hair that grows underneath my left nipple.  I want you to discover parts of me I don't even know about.  The thoughts, macabre and devastating; ideas like diving loons; the self destruction, the creative healing.  Taste me as a hungry gourmand would a truffled pheasant, untie the kitchen twine binding my ankles.  Consume me so that I might look into your sated eyes and finally see myself.

Is that why I so crave coupling?  To experience my body though yours.  I want to smell and wrap myself in your savor.  Eating is the tickling of our own sensual bodies.  Making love is to share that corporeal feast.  I am no longer looking for a sugar fix.  m&ms will not do.  I want a slow cooked meal.  I want the tobacco depth of Senegalese honey.  I want the unapologetic oozing of camembert.  I want to brave rejection.  Anyone can eat an m&m.  It takes an adventurous epicure to explore the intricate flavor of a real human.