Drug wasn't her thing, but when she tasted him, he felt like that.
A drug.
The escape, the whirlwind, the heartbeat, she came alive, she couldn't breathe but she was breathing.
It was that first spark, redefined.
He knew that, the life, the spark would leave her eyes if he left.
And he left.
The one who promised to stay finally left her.
Retracing the touch of his hand, the placement of his tongue.
She still remembers the outline of his lips.
And the way they seared every inch of her molten exterior.
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Addicted
PoetryRandom poems that can be relatable. _____________________________________________ "Poets don't write to become famous. They write because if they would keep it all inside, their mind would burst." _______________________________________________ Al...
