my body is glass and with your fingertips you can shatter my façade and let passion flow from the pieces. I want the memory of you to be stained in my mind, your mark on my skin. I want to memorize the look in your eyes as you take me, the feeling of your gentle body pressed against mine.
I want to know what you look like when you wake up. I want to trace the bone range of your hips with the tips of my fingers and watch your eyelids tremble from their dark valleys into the waking world; I want to be the first thing you see, my silhouette faded pink and yellow by the morning light.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
my body is glass and with your fingertips you can shatter my façade and let passion flow from the pieces. I want the memory of you to be stained in my mind, your mark on my skin. I want to memorize the look in your eyes as you take me, the feeling of your gentle body pressed against mine.
I want to know what you look like when you wake up. I want to trace the bone range of your hips with the tips of my fingers and watch your eyelids tremble from their dark valleys into the waking world; I want to be the first thing you see, my silhouette faded pink and yellow by the morning light.
an old poem but one of my favorites
