I used to not eat enough, sleep enough, drink enough. I did not even drink enough water; I longed to want. I used to hang in between the complete physical sensory overload of starvation, the giddiness and nagging reminder that my body lived without, the dehydration and constant thirst that accompanied it, and guilt from eating the slightest thing, then eventually, guilt from considering what I would eat next. Then I’d chastise, berate myself for even thinking, even dreaming, of eating. Now, I have stopped entirely.

As I wither, skin taut, not loose: flesh too thin, really too close to the bone, I still want. I want you. Your hair to fall in sheets over me as you climb me, mount me. Lilac kisses from your swollen lips, purple-mauve lips, that want my affections. The soft skin of your belly to press into mine, my hollow cave that once was a womanly mound. Fill me. Take me. Make me a whole person again. Perfume my face with the shadowy violets of you.

I will not eat until I can taste you, taste your lissome flesh, once again. Feed me. Make me live. Please come back home. 
 

Copyright © 2001 Jamie Joy Gatto. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post.

Her first collection of short fiction, Sex Noir: Stories of Sex, Death and Loss, is published by Circlet Press.  "Gatto's tales range from sexy to harrowing, from tragic to optimistic, and from hardcore to sugary sweet-- sometimes all within the same story." ~ AVN Click on the book to learn more about Jamie Joy Gatto's collection of dark & often tragic erotica, Sex Noir