wounds in verse

like need. You watch the way his skin shifts under the light,

the veins running up his arms like maps to places

you'll never touch. You think, I could break him open,

and it’s not about the softness anymore.

It’s about the heat,

the way your body hums when he’s near,

the way his lips move around words

that aren’t yours but you want them to be.

You want to taste them, steal them

off his mouth, press yourself so close

you forget who’s breathing first.

You don’t want to hold him.

You want to swallow him.

You want to feel his teeth in your mouth,

his skin under your fingernails,

something raw, something desperate.

Like a hunger that doesn’t go away,

even when you’re full of him.

His neck, the way it bends when he turns,

makes you want to take something—

leave a mark, bite down until the only thing

left in this world is the space where your teeth

pressed into his skin.

You imagine the weight of him,

how he'd feel under your hands,

how his breath would hitch when you push too far,

but not far enough. Never far enough.

You want to disappear into him,

become the blood moving through his veins,

the sweat pooling at his collarbone.

Come here, you think,

but it’s not soft.

It’s hunger, it’s craving,

it’s the kind of want that makes you claw at yourself

when he walks away,

and you’re still standing there,

heavy with all the things

you’ll never have.

the perfect slope, hard line of it,

like something you were told once,

like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear,

but you heard it anyway.

This is what you wanted.

You find the mouth, the skin,

the angles that fit into your hunger

and you take everything

over and over again.

But it’s never just skin, is it?

It’s the weight of the night pressing down,

the shadows under your ribs,

the noise in your head,

and still, you ask for more.

So, you bend into him,

feel the pulse, feel the ache,

like you could stop time

if you just held on long enough,

but time isn’t interested in mercy,

and neither are you.

Here, in the dark, it’s all body.

All need. All nothing.

And maybe that's what love is,

a thing that fills your mouth

and leaves you speechless,

tangled in sheets,

searching for the words