You taste like Sunday morning on Friday night –
something about your body speaks to me in ways only God would understand
and I hope He does.
I wish you’d bite my lip until my mouth gave in and I no longer had words
to describe how you’re different.
Be different.
**** lingering ghosts of lovers past from existence so you’re the only name
my tongue remembers
and utters.
I want you to scratch your future down my spine so I can be –
everything you breathe for beyond these sheets.
Mark me.
I swear to die for you daily and resurrect in our screams,
just fall on your knees.
Be willing to bleed –
love –
my body
breaking for you
my blood
shed.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
You taste like Sunday morning on Friday night –
something about your body speaks to me in ways only God would understand
and I hope He does.
I wish you’d bite my lip until my mouth gave in and I no longer had words
to describe how you’re different.
Be different.
**** lingering ghosts of lovers past from existence so you’re the only name
my tongue remembers
and utters.
I want you to scratch your future down my spine so I can be –
everything you breathe for beyond these sheets.
Mark me.
I swear to die for you daily and resurrect in our screams,
just fall on your knees.
Be willing to bleed –
love –
my body
breaking for you
my blood
shed.
11.14.15
