he leans in to kiss you. his lips graze yours, a careful brush, so close but not close enough, as the two of you breathe the same air. his breath is warm, his body is warm, everything about him is so warm when you feel so cold. next to him you feel like ice. and his touch melts your cool skin, and youβre melting, melting, gone. youβre kissing him, your chapped lips on fire. your baby is the sun and yes, you know this is going burn eventually. it burns already anyway. but youβd burn into ashes for him. youβd fade for him until there was none of you left.
his gaze leaves nothing of you. you burn until you smolder every time he looks your way. heβs older than you, and itβs almost like heβs lived so many centuries before this one. and he calls you βmy loveβ and βbaby boyβ and he makes you feel soft even when youβre sweat drenched, even when your skin tastes like the ocean.
youβre on fire, but itβs alright. / thereβs pain in this desire, but nothingβs felt more right.
icarus, your baby is a fire.
no.
your baby is a thousand fires.
your baby is a thousand fires,
and each one is so beautiful,
that you donβt mind
how heated
things are getting.
this love is tragic, dear icarus. and although you know itβs going to **** you, or maybe even because you know itβs going to **** you, you canβt stop loving him, and the heat radiating from his skin.