My vicious is caught between your teeth and you hold it against your tongue gently, giving me many breaths of a heartbeat that belongs to you, only you.

there are a million tales of love at first sight,
one for every wave reflecting the moon,
but they will talk about what we became
long after our wake of flame has scarred the land

I’ve tossed my dictionary into a locked drawer, your eyes and fingertips hold any word I’ve ever needed.

you are every book i have ever gently held,
every line that describes the sunrise,
every ode to love

We careen into each other’s faces, tasting tounges and chewing on raspberry stained lips, always asking ourselves if that’s blood but it’s love.

when i look at you and smile,
my lips hurt and in that pain
all i want is to pull you even closer,
when it hurts,
when we bleed i just fucking love you more

My vicarious is caught between your teeth yet you hold it bite it gingerly, giving me heartbeats that belong to you

it is all i can do not to throw my head back and howl my passion
as i am deafened from how your pulse sings in my ears
as lost in each other’s embrace

We close our eyes to all the things we want to go numb to but can’t and instead pierce skin and eyes deeper with teeth and bone.

you inherently know when i need calmed down,
but you are well aware there are times to ignite the hellfire in my veins
with your mouth of perfect sin

You collect my gentle between your thumb and forefinger while you tell it to swallow hard

in the quiet of our fury,
you whisper beautiful vulgarities
as your nails carve passion on the back of my head

We build an ‘I love you’ out of sighs and stencil hearts in tears. Maybe we’ll wake up wordless but primal and soft.

our love is no competition nor a pretty valentine card,
instead we show our emotion in gentle looks and touches

I’ve tossed my dictionary in a locked drawer because your pages hold any word I’ve even needed

i’ve set my quill aside because the look in your eyes is the only poetry that matters in this world of woe

EC is the source of my poetic joy. knowing she exists is the source of my real joy.