You—
you’re the snowfall I stagger into,
pure, blinding, merciless.
My breath burns black against your skin,
your lips open like a gunshot in winter.
We collide like alleyway saints,
kissing hard enough to bruise bone.
Your hands are knives wrapped in silk;
they cut me into something worth keeping.
Love, with you, is not gentle.
It’s cigarette ash and blood in the snow,
the taste of iron disguised as sweetness.
Every embrace leaves fingerprints like bruises
I wear as scripture.
We are both wolves,
both hunters,
and still we bare our throats,
voluntary victims,
devouring while we’re being devoured.
If the world came for us,
we would meet it with teeth.
Two shadows crossing,
a fairy tale told in black ink,
red accents,
and the violence of a kiss
that refuses to end.
