The streets we walk lost half their shade each morning
and even the moon can’t face these nights,
I put blood to paper
in the hope I could rent a little mercy
but you let each word dissolve
till all that’s left
are silent ways
I scream your name.
I pour my tears
like wine over an open wound
into a shattered ocean that swallows,
just the way you used to swallow me—
wanting.
The sky
is still empty,
but my eyes
are still full
of fierce limbs and the cool curve
of your thigh
and your hips will be the metronome.
Yes,
your fingers insist,
and you suffocate me
in the prettiest ways you know how,
slowly burning
up
together— a faded grey ash
on a hungry bedroom floor.
I’m a thousand miles inside you
but missing you comes in waves
and this one
hits me,
(and you hide it so well)
You’re a thousand centuries deep
and your voice still haunts me,
a thousand feet above a place
called nothing.

You trip over shadows
like I trip over mouthfuls
of your name
carved into me
inch by inch,
like permanent love letters—
making me crave four letter words
you love.
More.
Wrapped,
by arms,
unwrapped,
by fingers,
you use my spine
as a garden for your lips
till all rose colours drain
like hot water,
rushing over you
and into a cold black ground,
and we both know
that one should never listen
to the flowers.
You consume my thoughts,
like I consume your body—
silencing your voice with curled fingers in your just opened mouth,
and we both know,
moonlight
is a thief,
silencing evidence of stars—
begging to be taken.
All that’s left
is a memory—
of the shape of my mouth
on your jaw,
words,
that barely followed bodies
fallen in your bedroom,
and eyes
that always give me
a
-way.

My breath
is a scream
and your fingers
are a
tactile hallucination
tracing outlines of secrets
hidden in my curved pulse.
I count my shivers
backwards,
each
one-
by-
one,
waiting
to tell you,
I love you—
but
words always taste better
in your just-open mouth
and we both know
your eyes are turning
a new colour
of stone
cold.
Violent delights
have violent
ends,
and ours are choked
limp
and lost—
with you,
even the sex
turned into a sweat-shimmering battle
for extinction
as the bruises
find a way back in.
Honey-sweet soft
kisses
are no match
for lips
stained with every touch
of your skin,
the begging for more,
the hot blood thickening,
the slash marks
of a liquid whip on pale skin—
white on white,
like the thoughts
you don’t write
on letters
you won’t send.
Torn hearts
and broken minds
are your favourite lingerie
and to you
love
is a thief
who only ever
takes
what you wish you never had
times three.

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.