Love’s ink

Let’s cover ourselves
with love’s ink and write poetry
on each other’s skin.



You are 4,622 km away, and yet you are searching for a spot to hit inside me, one that might make me arch my back, my hips jolt, my mouth draw open with pleasure. There is no distance between my hunger and your mouth. You can touch me in more ways intimate than flesh. As you grab my hair from behind, I become undone. I unravel, twisting myself into something flexible you call home, with the length of my legs wrapped around your neck. You are built like a tree trunk but I can never tell where the root of your insatiable desire begins. Right now, I just want your big, rough hands to take me by the hips.

All of me

If you wish to be with me,
you must be willing to accept
all of me, all of who I am:
splendid and unpleasant,
perfect and imperfect,
twisted and bent, broken and built
I was not created to be torn to
pieces, or to be loved in parts.


You broke my heart into pieces but for some reason
it didn’t hurt as much as I had expected it to, maybe
it’s because I loved you that god damn much that
I was not prepared to stop loving you just yet. If it
meant that the pieces of me and my heart could stay
and live on with you, and if it meant that your heart
would remain in one whole piece, then being broken
is something I would bear.

*As requested by @sspilled for #bemymuse no. 23


You caught me staring at you today.
Well not exactly staring.
Longing, rather.
Lusting. Hoping.
Fucking you in my mind,
tracing your rough stubble
with my eyes and wondering
what it would be like to learn
your body’s topography
with my eager hands
and impatient tongue.