it's almost like when Vincent van Gogh ate yellow paint because he believed it would make him happy
i want to engulf your passionate fury and turn it into something we can both share
trying to spin the wheels on your spiderwebbed heart and watch the cogs rotate around a new start
swallow your inhibitions whole like a hunter and his prey
stare into the hearth behind your eyes and wait until my desire reaches the logs resting in your chest, igniting them with a flame so rich you lose all consciousness
wake up and find your hands searching for mine