Happy Disaster


Photo Credit: Nachan at deviantart.com

You always tasted mahogany rich,
sweet smoke without the burn.
Your skin would warm,
stiffen beneath my touch,

the smirk never leaving your lips.

You call me
a happy disaster,
a good girl,
and I dissolve in your voice,
the deep timbre
of your words
echoing through my body,
reminding me of your fingers
clenched in my hair.

You are a forest
of fevered letters,
a tornado tearing out my insides,

and I like it.

I want your dark taste
on my tongue,
your wide hands
on my throat,
but I need,
so desperately,
your voice
through my bones,
asking me
if I belong to you.




6 thoughts on “Happy Disaster

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