Qu'est-ce que c'est

Showered and shaved and dressed for bed, I turned out the bathroom light as a thought entered my head, unbidden:
Run...

Moreover...Run!

Resisting the urge, I crawled into bed, a smile stretching wide as I met my wife there. A smile meant to please, and comfort...yet it failed to reach my eyes. I could feel it.

Shifting away from her pink lace and flower scented person, I noted the shadows dancing on the wall. She had lit candles...vanilla and jasmine.

I wanted to scream: Run! But I wasn't sure who should be doing the running. Inhaling deeply I tried to relax, tension was building, and I could not seem to shake off the impending doom I felt.

Repeating her question from earlier she asked, "Well do you like it?"

Her green eyes were wide and intense. Lined in turquoise and painted gold. Her lips were baby soft, pink, and slick with moisture; meant to invite passion.

Lips had remained pressed when she had asked that first time. Why did she bother asking again? I had heard the first time...and yet she failed to recognize her error.

My eyes burned into her, I could feel myself burning up laying there in bed, skin to skin with my lover. Why was she still talking? I saw her lips moving, but couldn't hear a thing...nothing except- Run, run, run...

My rough hands caressed her face, her question still in her glance, but her smile now gone. To appease I looked to the tattoo, she had gotten...it was me.

How could she have known?

When I am hidden deep within his head and soul...

There...that scream once more...Run! He struggles to escape to warn her.

No, he won't have the chance, he was blind, vainly thinking he could control me.

Ha! Me the monster within, a death-mask now marking her breast, my semblance; her desire.

Dance with me O death, she sang
Delight me with your skill
Dandle me upon your knee
My love you'll never kill

I could grasp it now...this thought screaming from within. It would have been far, far better for her had she run when he'd told her. The shadows dance, the jasmine swirls twining with vanilla and lust. Fingers tangle through her golden red hair her response fuels my desire.

On fire...the bed's a pyre built like an altar to me. No sleep tonight as I fight and I fight against me, myself, and I. We cannot agree...he wants to be free, to run, oh to run and be done. The facts are not easy, not easy at all. But he'll fall as I call for his silence.

What is it? What do we desire? This fire it’s building within, this molten inferno must erupt...to quench it, to wrench it away from my heart, there is only one thing to be done...such fun...

I clasp her fragile frame and embrace the inevitable.

In hopes of glory, we run...