whisky breath, stone cold sober
coffee skin under plain white cotton
soft flesh glazed with callouses all over
but his soul steady, untainted

he was raised among wolves
with no taste for romance; he knows this as well as he knows his own name
his love, his methods
brutal, rough, and explicit
reeking of bad habits and good intentions

(do not) listen
when he bellows past midnight on a moonless night
he comes undone
like a wire, exposed
trembling sparks of his ruthlessness embeds into your skin

the blinds are drawn and the wind chime sways
faint street light seeps into the room
his fiery eyes and strong jaw betray no sign of vulnerability
yet he is longing, demanding
for you to tuck him softly in the crook of your neck

open up to the east and west
he feasts boldly on his willing prey, devouring
deeply in its absolute rawness
chills travel up and down your spine
unforgettable like vocals of a singer’s hypnotic raspy voice
you want to be his favourite hiding place

he was raised among wolves,
dreaming under the midnight sun with eyes wide open
golden rays enshrouding him in a world outlined in black
rewriting the definitions of love, and he
won’t let anyone steal who he is meant to be.