surge

if i could suspend these surges for even a second, i'm not sure if i would. My monsoonal urges slide up against me; melt and electrify me, wake me in the early hours with better things to do than sleep. On heady nights you'll find me hunting them, clad in blankets, brandishing butter knives. Tasting the air for a mix of innocence, desire and fear. My lucidity dances with whiskey. Delerium licks at my heels and caresses my thighs?