She sends a feeler far across the city, where he
sleeps beside his wife. A subtle first contact,
the finest wisp of tendril at his temple,
the hairs that dust it. He feels it as a micro-nip,
a tingle, miles from where she lies quietly
smiling. She probes his cheek, ear, her tentacle
inching-up around the head, drawn by thoughts deep
within his skull. Deeper. Fingering her way,
she takes her time: spirals hair, tests his static,
slowly surfs curves, caresses undulations.
At his neck's nape she pauses, contemplates circling
a throat. Her kitten clutch shouldn't hurt him much.
She feels him throb, his breath falter slightly
as she coils. Gently parting lips with a mistress kiss,
she feeds: eyes open half a slice then wider, blooming
in the still night, heedless of his doomed wife.
