Fill me with words of lust and care, of tenderness and need; of raking touches and tongues, of praying and fucking. Worship my body, let me worship yours. Running fingertips over your skin, over your scars, touching your flaws with reverence and wonder. Everything and nothing inside this moment against your vibrating body, and the sensations sing like tenors. Taste your sweat, your blood, your tears and fears and all those years of nothing. We’re found falling into this embrace and perhaps we’ll never let go, never wash it off, never be free of the mark. Eyes like tar, a smile like hunger. Surrounded by stars and satin, push me into the goose down with the hardness of your body, trap me here, eyes blind and limbs bound and make me yours as you are mine.
Cherish me and I will honor you. Fuck me and I will follow you. Make me forget and I will hold you here with my lust, my cunt, my lips. Stolen moments hidden from lives of normalcy. Do not let me down. Do not allow my fear. I will shelter in your breast, a secret you hold, and we’ll find it; our acceptance.
You pulled me in and held me with
You placed my hands above my head and bound me
with nothing more than a word.
With savagery and tenderness you laid
your claim and left your marks.
Before we ever touched, I was yours.
Just one word, one heartbeat, one misstep or right step away from disaster… never immune. Immunity is for immortals.
You trace my scars with your fingers. Paths of destruction leading down blind alleys into waiting jaws. I hear the drip drip drip, and a soft pant of breath. Is it yours? Mine?
You told me not to hope with too much abandon while you looked into my soul and saw the fallacy of your own words. Abandon is all I know. Abandonment. They entwine with one another as we do, skin wrapped in skin, wet and velvet and the slow steady thud of your heart, so reassuring. I tell you I don’t care about immortality, as long as my time is well-spent.
No one sees them but you. What you trace on my skin is an invisible mark, left by an invisible heart. If I could wrap you in parchment and put you under glass for safekeeping, I would. Holding you is like holding a whisper. Yet your teeth in my neck say different. Your fingers bruise. You claim with your sex, with your mind, with the forcible strength of your character.
I wonder who follows whom down these dark halls.