Satiated

I loved you so much that I brought a camera with me and snuck a picture of you when you were laughing with friends. I developed the film, flipping through blurry photos of things that did not matter until I found your face. Your smile. Your straight teeth showing, your eyes closed in delight.

I wanted to make you feel that way, but I wasn't sure I had it in me.

I tucked the picture in my mirror. I kept it on my nightstand. I carried it in my hip pocket. I needed you close. I wanted you everywhere.

I felt the gaping hole inside of me, so I tore off a corner of the photo. It was just your friend's shoulder, a plaid nobody attempting to block you from my view. I put the paper on my tongue and felt the slick image slide down my throat.

I felt a little bit better.

The next day, I tore off another corner and consumed it. The next day, the third corner. The next day, the fourth. Now I had a picture of only you. Ragged around the edges, but it was just you with me.

I pressed my lips against the picture. I liked how it felt. I licked your smile, took the photo's jagged edges into my mouth, softened them with my tongue. I mashed you into me and gulped you down until I felt.

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