Your words are the finest chocolate leaving me drooling, hoping to lick them off your lips while you whisper them into the darkness. My hunger grows with every syllable. I don't read looks, expressions, I am consumed by them, your entire essence. Let me sink into every inch of you, let your touch, smell, self linger a while longer. Don't tell me what I want to hear most, who the fuck cares what you say as long as you're producing speech. Patiently waiting for sweet death, every second feels like an eternity. What's taking you so long; don't ever move faster. If I don't feel anything maybe you'll feel this, because when it feels so good it hurts a little it's better than anything else. I don't know what's going on anymore; can't tell shades from scents with your stare tickling my neck. Fuck manuals, instructions are only slowing me down; let me.
The familiar feeling of physical sickness takes over: I know what I want and I know what I need and I know they're two entirely different things and you're something else, you're like everybody else. Adjectives exist to describe you and your ways, but it all tastes better without verbally violating it. You might end up having to scrape me off the floor. Shovel me into your tomb, I'm dying to explore your insides.
I promise not to drink and drive ever again
you save me.
No comments:
Post a Comment