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S Sep 14
A quiet street, a winter’s breath,
A stray who knew both hunger, death.
Yet fate would lift her, far above,
On human dreams, on fragile love.

A rocket roared, the sky grew black,
No returning home, no coming back.
Her heartbeat traced on trembling wires,
The first to ride our restless fires.

She never chose the steel, the flame,
No medal bore her humble name.
But still she runs through cosmic night,
A ghostly paw-print made of light.

O Laika, gentle pioneer,
The Patron Saint of One-Way Tripsβ€”
We send a tear across the sphere.
Not just a dog, but more than we
The first to show the stars could be.
S Sep 3
𝘐. π˜”π˜°π˜Άπ˜΅π˜©
Your lips tear easy,
a ripe seam splitting.
I drink the words
before they escape.

𝘐𝘐. π˜›π˜¦π˜¦π˜΅π˜©
Each kiss is a wound.
I keep your taste
lodged between molars,
a secret no wash can rinse.

𝘐𝘐𝘐. π˜›π˜°π˜―π˜¨π˜Άπ˜¦
Your words dissolve
like fat on flameβ€”
I lap at their smoke,
searing my mouth
just to taste you.

𝘐𝘝. 𝘏𝘦𝘒𝘳𝘡
I split the ribcage clean,
hands bathing in red heat.
I swallow the muscle whole,
and feel your rhythm
become my own.
cradling the muscle
that never stops
calling my name.

𝘝. π˜‰π˜­π˜°π˜°π˜₯
It runs like wine,
hot and feral.
I tilt your throat
and drink until
the night blurs.

𝘝𝘐. π˜‰π˜°π˜―π˜¦
White silence cracks,
splintering my jaw.
I grind the marrow
into hunger’s flour.
splinter by splinter,
until even your marrow
screams inside me.

𝘝𝘐𝘐. 𝘚𝘬π˜ͺ𝘯
Your body is parchmentβ€”
I peel it slow,
line by line,
reading you
to the bone.

𝘝𝘐𝘐𝘐. π˜‰π˜³π˜¦π˜’π˜΅π˜©
You sigh,
and I steal it,
pushing your lungs
empty into mine.

𝘐𝘟. 𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳
I have eaten you allβ€”
the mouth, the tongue,
the skin, the heartβ€”
yet nothing fills me.
Love is the wound
that never closes.
this is a collection of poems i wrote because i like the idea of cannibalism being a metaphor for love, not that violently but also because loving someone sometimes means you want to be with them forever. ie, consumption
S Sep 3
I bite through you,
cartilage cracking like prayer beads,
your breath spilling hot
into my throat.

Fingers drip with your sweetness,
a nectar no fruit could mimicβ€”
I gnaw, I swallow,
I make you mine.

Desire is a knife,
and I wield it gladly.
S Sep 3
Your skin splits sweet
between my teeth,
a ripe fruit
bleeding warmth.

I tear you closer,
tongue slick with marrow,
your heartbeat pounding
inside my jaw.

Love is red,
and I am starving.

— The End —