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?

Kisses at midnight
taste like the future,
so I count your freckles
as slow as I can—
our bodies become
only shadows
circling white walls,
their minor refusals
to ever fully untangle.
Our memories form
like a frosted glass,
our collar bones,
inviting more—
our flesh, whispers
in bites—
time
is such a lonely lock—
our elaborate fingers
are perfectly shaped
silver keys.

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.

Tangled writhe
of limbs;
havoc tide
of hips;
the faintest taste
of blood
in your mouth
tainted
by craving veins;
thoughts
stripped bare—
we shed all
that’s left
and write our selves back
into
dripping
wet
skin;
white-hot cliffs
jump to screaming deaths
while we gamble
our immorality
(just to stay alive).
Lips. Kissed raw.
Fucked. Into silence.
Anonymous. Now.
Even to ourselves.

Your mind is an absolute catalyst
and I can’t deny
a mouth that is a sweet, silky murder
(and you do it so well)
wrapping me in
strips–
teased
climbing my ribs
like a staircase
as hearts escape
a noonday silence of crimescene,
smilingly.
Tomorrow,
a chalk-outline of
bottled
up
whispers, folded,
white on white
swim to your mind
in an ocean of shady thoughts.
Can you hear them?