Nostrils of my curse.

Vampire´s have tried.
I can taste you with my teeth but it´s back here where my tongue is that begs a whisper,
There´s a hole in me I will call it my stomach.
And to swallow your soul has majestic appeal.
To do well past the blood and flesh of you and to engulf the very essence of you pumps the addrenaline to my temple like a mad goose.
It seems there´d be no other pleasure more illicit than to
leave my own body in search of yours in your far off land,
seperate you!
Cut you off from your life feel and to smell your soul with the
nostrils of my curse.
With the true grunt of the bush demon running a hundred kilometers an hour through thick brush toward your surprised facial shock.
My tastebuds turn into an army all hungry to pierce each one of your goose bumps.