torrid tête - à - tête

You grow slowly, prominently, until you are long and pronounced. Winding your way up so that all I can see is you. I close my eyes, envision your shape, your twist. I want to pull, push - do everything in my power to dominate you and be in control. But you are controlling me - you amaranthine beast. You make me think of all that is me - about life, time and mortality. And I'm haunted, hunted and no longer unassailable. Pluck you, my single gray hair. Pluck. You.