Taste me.

The deliciousness of your imagined hopes, the craving you get whilst dreaming of a time, when I fulfil your deepest needs, your perfect life.

Allow me to fill you up with the phrases you want to hear, the emotions you need to feel and the standards that need ticking off.

All I do is prompt these delusions, setting you off into a full-on mode of lucid dreaming in the present time.

I become the epitome of your day, the muse that keeps your creativity going, a little spark of joy through a text message that gets more sporadic the closer I am to being seen by you in the daylight.

And although you know that it’s you re-creating me in your head, using the little information you have to mould a future that won’t even come close to fruition, you still choose to make these assumptions, form a utopian setting. To feel something, to feel a part of the other, just for a little bit, before it all ends and you start it all over again in your head.

 

So, taste me.

Bathe in the stickiness of the glory that doesn’t exist.

Bury your eyes in that beautiful scenario.

Indulge yourself in the texture of every part of me, the smooth edges of lies, the curviness of promises.

Taste me, taste me.

And let me ruin your hopes but give you a time, when the delusions feel just as real as your everyday life.

 

So,

Taste me.