Sweeter than the concentrated nectar of a million hives, the allure of this love potion number nine is deafening.
Stuck in the grasp, constricted, choking on the presence of a mind numbing event.
Reeking of a spiritual pheromone, the soul loses will and the body loses life.
The darkness loses light.
For the gravity of this singularity draws all consciousness inwardly while expelling all autonomy. The recession is a low point in ability but this is a suppression of immunity.
Undermining the urges, lusts & desires to maintain a pace to drive higher seeking the zenith, only to find the downward crash to nadir is infinite.
For, there is much exhilaration in touching tongue to tonsil. Even behind the bitterness. Nothing compares to a final "driplet" as a reminder of such a bitter...
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