jam-packed in a heat of hormones.
Smoking cigarette, after cigarette
after cigarette.
With each drag, your eyes drag too.
Drag me in, with your
big smile, doe eyes.
I smell corruption.
Wander into the house, down the stairs.
Gradually into the covers.
My hand grasps for your hand,
my experience grasps for your innocence.
No turning back, there is no retreat.
I love the softness of your lips.
It irons out the wrinkles of mine,
irons out the imperfections, the scars of lovers past.
Your innocence makes me feel pure.
Whole.
Me again.
And I love you for it.
And I smother you with all the passion
that I can pull up from inside.
A haze of intoxication, a cloud of disinigration
from what I wanted, and now
what I need.
It's 3 am on a Sunday morning.
The Lord's day.
And here I am, breathing heavy, intertwined
between sheets and legs
and his eyes.
And never wanting anything
anywhere
anyone else.
But you.
You are young, but so am I.
The world that you've shown me is young
and beautiful.
You've shown me that again.
Embraced, saved, loved me.
And I love you for it.
3 comments:
my god this is beautiful.
thank you so, so much.
Distortions in the portions
of passion interviewed
we've quickly reviewed
lean in to kiss
a new message to the lips
fore-play shadow puppets
a dosage of supplements
directly to the octuplets
haze grey and underway
put up with the way we say
those silly words that make the day
and put up picket lines
disconcerting the last time
we want nothing more
than the teen moments on the shore
of passion and desire
claustrophobic and aiming for empire
to never tire.
we want innocence forever
and pain never.
~Making wishes.
Love x2,
Digress.
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