She bites my lip, bites her own
and there's something glorious about her
and the careless, controlled caress of her palms
I kiss the freckles, paled by maturity
beneath her autumn-eyes
and she smiles, oh God, she smiles.
I inhale the heady scent of her throat,
cigarettes and spice and that perfumed mist
she keeps in a vial of absynthe-green
beside the bed.
I wish my skin would melt
so that I could crawl into hers
and feel her pulse more clearly against my soul
I wonder how to explain this to her,
this dark-bright drowning in flames
like rough velvet
but I've lost my reason long ago
Instead, I stutter an incoherancy and she
she smiles, oh God, she smiles.
I knew she'd understand.