Black Chrysler.

White Ferrari.

Loaded barrel.

Dark corner.

Back seat.

Trigger, trigger.

Streetlight.

Unmade bed.

Bathroom floor.

Bang, bang.

Good girls sew their mouths shut.
We stitch our eyes closed
and turn down the volume
of our breathing.

Dressed up in stereotypes
with our limbs twisted
for a taste of something
of substance.

No trespass of emotion;
no warmth to expose us
to cold beds and cold hands.

Good girls sew their minds shut
and do as they're told.

I'm in love with the curl
of your upturned lips;
hanging on the rich, smokey timbre
of your breathy words.
I'm tracing all the lines of your fingerprints
with my eyes
as I sink into the imprint
of your kisses on my skin.

Your velvet kisses melt in my mouth
and the taste of your skin
enthralls my senses.
I'm heady on your fumes,
making my orbit around
the steadiness of your breaths.

I can't hold you tight enough;
grappling your body
as we intertwine.
I want to crush myself against you
so close that our atoms coalesce.

When I meet your eyes
Wagner's thundering drums
fill my ears in a burst;
the symphonic waves
wash over my whole body
as I trace your skin
and the strings soften
into a delicate prelude,
simmering in my chest
as I breathe you in.
It's almost unbearable,
but the building sensation
of the sweeping harmonies
is intoxicating, all-consuming,
just as the feeling of you against
my skin and the warmth of you
on my tongue; the vision of you
from above, utterly devours my senses.

I want to savor you like fine wine.
When I pull you close
it feels like I'm fireside,
and your embraces taste
like soft caramels dissolving on my tongue.

I feel my whole body soften
like wax when you hold me.
Your kisses set my skin on fire
and your eyes defibrillate my heart.