You are so good to me, I press the words like secrets against your neck. You part my lips with your fingers and as my chin drips into your madness I catch a glimpse of the knives behind the eyes. A thin shimmer of blades, a sparkle in the way this will end badly for both of us but what are the endings if not the beginnings.
We have been here before, rough hands grazing my silk stomach. I know every move you make before you make it, I can practically sing to it. You, whistling for me in the darkness which cradles itself.
For all the sweetness hanging from the cliffs between us, threaded in honey currents beneath my fevered skin, poets only attempt to touch the things we know we cannot reach. Such arrogance, such hope. For all we expose even more is forbidden. We the fire in the ice in the raindrops trailing along your spine.
Time is a twisted punishment but you are so beautiful when you close your eyes.
This is love, this is lust, but this is not the answer. No such thing. Just the breathing out and breathing in, we are steel traps with ripening skin.
This is the life and death of the mind inside the mind, the body inside the body in constant rotation. There is nothing to see but the way we see it. Tomorrow is already here, beloved, (eating us eating us eating us) it’s the horizon which never comes.
Day breaks where loneliness mouths the word for freedom. Quiet fog in your glass house. Cherry wine in your torn up throat, blood washing itself in the curtains.
We will always be lost within a journey into our own abyss.
We will always go hungry feasting upon ourselves.