she leaves.
and leaves a trail of bloody roses, dripping red, behind her like she is the muse nature carves her art from / she trails down the kisses of the sun and wishes of the moon down the spectra of her enigmatic silhouette and oceans of secrets spill from her eyes unto her lap / on which i ache to put my head on, the fire of her skin on mine – the spark that ignited my heart and blazed down my entire self tells me to happily burn for her / hell is not so different from the corners of my mind where i sin with her and crave the luscious flesh of the danger and the wrongs we'd do; the very thought of our sins is delicious / i would never stop the dam of fiery showers down her mystic self / only to dare leave my own trace behind in the form of exotic wines and ludic, stolen kisses because that's all worshipping is, really / i hope she burns her tongue (that she wrapped around my torso and i saw heaven while rotting in hell, is this sin if it's just silent pleasure?) so she sees how i feel every day when i see her / consume it the way i consume her – needily, greedily, hungrily; insatiably.
a/n: Happy Pride! this is for the gals that love the girls ❣ (me)
lust is a very powerful emotion, especially if we're talking about 'forbidden' tropes here. something about it excites me.
YOU ARE READING
Moonlight Wishes ❦
Poetrystories i tucked away in the dead of night, only to be illuminated by the muse of all muses: the moon, and her ever quiescent beauty.
