there's a [pounding]
in my chest.space. sounding like
the flashbacks. I get- in tune to the rising
of your chest plate.
the sheets. they speak sin like
wine on any day other than sundays.
and baby.
those lips- they do a lot more
than sing.

so on these nights.
I ask you to love me as long as the phone rings.
call me your night time king
of something in between reason
and plain/out .fucking.
because those moments between thrusts.
yes, them.
that's the closest we'll ever get
to true love.

so ride me as if I know the way out of this place.
let my hands travel your body in ways
that are reserved for lovers.
because, love, when you make that face
I understand why men walk to the edge of the world.
for something- outside of this - here.
that's meaningless.


my tongue- it drips.
when I speak words like whispers to places
other than your ears. and I fear those trembles that creep.
because they speak of ends. when your lips
taste my skin- and your nails leave handwriting on my back.
there's nothing more beautiful than
a finale, that seems more like a panic attack.
because life- it's not as nice as this.
and I dress.

I digress.


and this- we. always end.