Summer heat slicks our skin like gasoline,
She leans close, breath tinged with homemade wine.
Satin words slip from a cherry-stained mouth,
Secrets curling like smoke between our eyes.
Sunset drips down her collarbone in gold,
Sin never looked so soft, so full of grace,
Shut doors, wax melts, the scent of something burned
Sulfur, maybe, or the want we define.
She laughs, low, like a flame catching a wick,
Shadow-drenched, lips poised just before they bite.
She is the spark, the match, the heat, the smoke,
Somewhere between danger and sheer delight.
Sweet on her breath: the last of the wine,
Smuggled in mason jars, **** and red.
She, all soft flannel and bitten lip
Sits close enough that the air turns musk.
She doesn’t speak, but the silence leans,
Spills down my spine like the first slow sip.
still as a crescent pinned to the wood.
Saffron smoke rising from cedar and fire.
She touches my wrist like ablution
slow and sure, in ritual desire.
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 9:34 AM UTC
Summer heat slicks our skin like gasoline,
She leans close, breath tinged with homemade wine.
Satin words slip from a cherry-stained mouth,
Secrets curling like smoke between our eyes.
Sunset drips down her collarbone in gold,
Sin never looked so soft, so full of grace,
Shut doors, wax melts, the scent of something burned
Sulfur, maybe, or the want we define.
She laughs, low, like a flame catching a wick,
Shadow-drenched, lips poised just before they bite.
She is the spark, the match, the heat, the smoke,
Somewhere between danger and sheer delight.
Sweet on her breath: the last of the wine,
Smuggled in mason jars, **** and red.
She, all soft flannel and bitten lip
Sits close enough that the air turns musk.
She doesn’t speak, but the silence leans,
Spills down my spine like the first slow sip.
still as a crescent pinned to the wood.
Saffron smoke rising from cedar and fire.
She touches my wrist like ablution
slow and sure, in ritual desire.
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