I want my man like I want
my books: warm to touch,
smooth on the inside but
rough along the edges,
leather-bound with a hard
back, filled with sordid
stories to tell.
Why do we always long for
the things that would lead us
to complete destruction?
The way I am craving for you.
My skin misses the messy scrawl
of your touch. My muscles ache
with need. I want to feel you in
the mornings and taste you in
the night, my soul years for
yours. I am craving for you.
Day 24, #naughtynovembernoir, hosted by @elle12368, @bluelotus.kamikazeheart, @__got2haveit, @wild.cherry69xo and moi
Your touch has left words on my skin
that now stain my mind blue
the marks remain cauterized symbols
you’ve branded my soul through.
And when I say I will run, I do not mean escape.
I will fly on wings made out of what I overflow with, wings made out of content sighs and satisfied breaths. I’ll disappear around the curve of the world, far enough that I won’t be forgotten, but far enough that I won’t be here. I will be somewhere else, breathing different air, soaking up new light, meeting new people, touching new lives.. Yes, that will be enough. I hope.
I’ve crashed and burned, so broken down I’ve turned to ASH.
I will slip through your fingers and stain your skin.
You will touch other people with me on your fingertips.
Between lipstick smears and beard scratches,
we have touched & collided on hungry little
kisses,leaving purple crescent moons on my hips.
I was taught to run away from flames,
from the lambent sparks that dance naked
on my skin when we touch, those tiny flickers
foretell a future of wildfires.