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?

I bite my lip,
because no one ever tells you
kisses taste better
when you don’t see them coming—
so I break the skin,
just because I feel restless
and because it is
between me
and what I hunger for.
Faint tastes
of blood
in my mouth
move like a slow dance of nights
when
I came
(to you)
and everything you said
was a like a secret voice
boiling in the thick of my ribs.
I am somewhere inbetween time,
and the silent gaps
of your thoughts
curl to a place
where hands
of a clock
can’t reach.
I don’t know what they are called,
those spaces
that break the seconds—
but that’s when
I always think of you

There’s no cure for a memory
and my wants burn just the same,
your touch is a lesson of patience,
you trace outlines on watercolour skin where a woman
got into my blood—
crackling sounds exiting fingers, are
the torments we are trade
in long afternoons of hands.
You wear questions
on your lips,
I shut your mouth with mine—
the replies are unforgettable,
signed in deepest-cherry colours of wet.
Naked,
to the bone,
our bodies move
like an instinct,
shedding all doubts like particles of sweat.
Salty liquids vaporise
to magnesium-ribbon ash,
licking our lips like a burned sugar future.
We started this fire,
for a reason,
and Me and You,
and the coming night
can’t turn away from each other—

Our fucking is a perfect unison,
like twinned bones of the wrist.

Haunted by
quiet hours so
my mind
may search for which light
you’re attracted to,
and admire how it
falls away, slowly.
My eyes kneel in front of
smooth stones stacked
with care, distracted
by how you make me
fall.
Can these woods and
hushed webs
lose
the memory of toes
that searched here, once,
collecting
treasures?
Or forget that patterned dress
that danced
among faded yellow
weeds, consoling
ancient hurts?

I search but can’t find
the words that wont
pass your lips,
not realising you have sent them already
in your thoughts.