The Softer It Speaks

I read you and only you.

Like a prayer melts fever on the tongue.

Open the app and ignore all the rest because anything but you is distraction.

Filler. Byproduct.

I crave you as a mind trained on excess.

Look and over-look, but never touch.

You are the realest of the real things, baby, and I want you to fuck me up so good.

You scratch at the corners of the walls I spent a lifetime resurrecting.

You get lodged in the veins, stuck in the teeth.

Poetry as bone, bone as lace.

Lace as lust, lust as fragility.

I open my mouth for you.

Beg for you to haunt this skin.

Penetrate the senses like a fine perfume.

A word falls from your fingertips like a flame

incinerates a moth’s linen wing.

Desire can only consume to the death.

To desire is to romanticize the end.

I forget what I am until you remind me.

I am desperate like a crucifix.

I am soft the way the blood flows.

Hot like sickness.

28 Replies to “The Softer It Speaks”

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