Lascivious Inebriation

** DISCLAIMER.  A few weeks ago I was on Vicadin because of the cellulitis in my hand. I  had written this on a groggy evening, post ER visit.

Thoughts coming like a flood. I can hear every level of sound. The telly, the music from

the kitchen, the conversations, Nam singing, the sound of the thoughts in my head

rushing loud like a river by my ears.


I’m in bed. I opened the window so there is a steady stream of cool air. It covers me

across the stretch of my stomach and thighs. The cold heavy air. At time there is a wind,

that picks up my sheer cotton nightgown to hover above my goose prickled skin. I feel

as though I’m at the helm of a ship with the rain and waves crashing into me. I close my

eyes and I’m there.

There is something to say about altering the regular function of your brain. It makes you think weird thoughts, it allows me to experience each sense more completely. To feel every tiny sensation, every cellular motion of my nipple stiffening against the cold. Feel it harden, tighten beneath the palm of a winter wind.

I feel each sensation, touch, smell, sight, sound and taste. I eat food like I’ve never

tasted anything like it before. Strawberry ice cream. The tingling sour of the strawberry

and the tiny ice molecules melting against my tongue.The pink blush of the ice cream

hinting my cheeks with colour, adding a sparkle in my eye.


There is something special about expressing  oneself at a time like this. Hearing, tasting

feeling every word as it forms into a sentence. The bitterness of condescention and the

sweet lies of flattery.


My eyes are heavy. My thoughts are heavier. So easy to sink in the cool softness of my

Queen. Queen sized bed anyway. How lovely it might be to sink into the cool softness of

a queen. Or just a girl even.


My skin is hot against the crisp cool sheets. The glow of my blood as it rushes through

me gives the off-white sheets a red sheen. Like red satin. That turns into flames and

consumes me. Like Love. That takes over the direction of every cell of every part of

my body and points me in the direction of him. Like it used to.


Fine. I admit it. May be I am lascivious tonight. (Because Lascivious sounds so much more sophisticated than horny.) But I’m lascivious for passion, for past, for words. May be for other things, but passion, past, and words can be equally satisfying.


Murderers kill for sexual release; I write.



2 thoughts on “Lascivious Inebriation

    1. haha i don’t usually share my “Sexual Energy” like this. Somehow in my heart i KNEW you would be the one to love this post the most. Just based on your own writing. Thank you for the compliment! 🙂

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