Your fingers make their way in my mouth, wrapped in my tongue like a gift, digging my waist and softly ripping appart my psyche.
I am unwell for you, too ripe and too ready,
The sweet ache of my teeth holding down my pleas makes itself known
What is love if not ruin
Mar 8, 2024
Mar 8, 2024 at 5:43 PM UTC
Your fingers make their way in my mouth, wrapped in my tongue like a gift, digging my waist and softly ripping appart my psyche.
I am unwell for you, too ripe and too ready,
The sweet ache of my teeth holding down my pleas makes itself known
What is love if not ruin
