you twirl your hair
because it’s the best way there is
for slowing-down time,
but your taste
is so softly
purring
and my filthy blood gathers pace—
i want to break down your walls
and tear off your clothes
in exactly that order—
pin you
down
and search your mouth
for answers.
who are you
when your hair is wrapped around my fist?
when your back
is arched,
and my mouth
is on your neck?

Sometimes, you hear your words catch in my throat, but you never see your thoughts glued between my ribs until I break curved bones to get them out. One by one, things are lost, repeatedly. We grind unused feelings into our coffee, and drink them, black. Soft lips need hard kisses, and our mouths intersect in a laced haze of white lust. It’s the perfect alibi when we’re looking for the way out.

Our arched bones
intersect
in a casual erotica,
and our fingers
know
all the ways of
wanting—
words crawl
from my open mouth
back to a memory
of tangled arms
and crisp linen Sundays
we know well—
breathless gasps
leak out,
and sparks
soak back in
to patches of
dripping
wet
skin
of me and you.
Inhaled kisses
and exhaled moans
are the best kinds
of goodbyes,
and filament hearts
burn white
to keep us warm
in a breathed out smoke
that made our love
a colour
of gone
grey.

You carve
your needs
into me,
one word
at a time—
the
poured
out
lust
like a liquid onyx
ink,
your fingerprints
will not
wash off.
Open mouths
of kisses
and
closed mouths
of smiles
are the lines
you write (on me)
and you punctuate them
with a red lipstick
seduction.