He is like fire and ice and rage. He is the night and the storm and when he takes you in his arms you burn like the sun.
Imagined clichés implode with the grip of his hands - the touch hot and cold and sharp against your skin.
He is a suffocating blade; and at once you are flayed to the core and smothered to oblivion. As his teeth fasten to the join of your neck and shoulder, lights begin to flash before your eyes. Crashing waves of sensation build until you are no longer you, shuddering beside the pulsing light of the TARDIS console.
You are a myriad of galaxies spinning through an endless Universe.
You are life and death and joy and anguish. You are the glint of sun on skin and the gentle horror of falling ash.
You are the Doctor, locked forever to the turning of Time itself.
And as you escape into unconsciousness, his single tear falls,
glittering,
into the dark.