|
I've honed my hippocampus for you. My autonomic system is sighing. I can hardly assuage my amygdala when you amble away from my retina. You've woken my pons to arousal and hexed my hypothalamus. My cerebellum's spinning and my vestibular senses are waning. My temporal lobe just tickles at the vibrational hertz of your timbre. It tingles through my incus to my tender tectoral membrane. My pinna is primed for a piece of your pitch. My stirrup stanches the sound. You, the countenance carved in my cortex, are fructose on my tastebuds. Umami, you are, on the edge of my tongue. The stimulus of my system.
< > |