Thereupon, I imagined pressing my finger into the slant of that female’s throat. I imagined counting that sharp pulse, wondering how many beats it would take until her lips parted for air. I imagined getting a sneak peek at that whiplash of a tongue. How would her shocked gasp sound? How would it look if that tongue swiped across those lips, her mouth glistening?
he's down bad, imagining her from a mere sight of an apple. rip poet you would have loved the word "simp"
