I never knew I could crave someone's touch, like thirst you feel like something I miss but don't yet know How foolish I can picture your touch but you haven't (yet) even traced my mouth and our eyes meet like two fuses across the room and It's obscene but I can feel your mouth on …
Perhaps the most intimate thing isn't letting someone see (be within) your body but letting them know your mind
Let me trace your ribs with my finger- tip- toe over the hairs that layer your stomach. Find home in the skin that encompasses The place I seek to know. Let me lick and lust for your empty words, mere thoughts that are just noise as they escape your mouth. A voice without language, a …
I remember the first time I traced your spine that felt like velvet. Memorised the coordinates of your collarbones with my nervous lip. I remember the laughter, the sweat, that unfamiliar. The glow of your skin, lighting my way home. Your eyes lit up like sparklers in November twilight, and guided me in line with …
One year encompassed by my heart strung across Paperchase postcards; a tangible copy of my soul, now sat waiting in your College pigeon-hole. Legs intertwined amongst our make-shift bed of blankets and last night's sweat and lust. With you, lust isn't temporary, lust is sick to my stomach, a comforting nervousness. The way your …
Her eyes are a marble collection of rainbow hues, fabricating past mistrust and apprehension, into a revised perspective. For she now carries her coat, her mac, her jacket; no longer a protective cape, but kick-ass costume. She’s colour, an orbit of Crayola; strides of smashed kaleidoscope; her glass half-full. Painting her former demons onto a …
You're the girl immersed in the city colour, from slate grey to carnival inked maps. You're lilac, a colourful orbit, a translucent, iridescent sun-rise, Tying me to the shore, like an anchor. You're keeping me ship-wrecked, and captive, safely so. My heart is meshed, knitted in a tight, make-shift spider's web. Laced in a …
