I love you in a way that makes me weak.
I wake up with your name on my lips and
bruises decorating my hips, still drunk,
still tasting last night's vodka and you on my tongue.
(I cannot forget the way you whispered in my ear,
pinned me down, kissed me until all I could say was ohplease and
I inhale smoke like it's all I can breathe,
pretending that you're only a craving, that I don't need you
to get me through the day.
(Truth is, I love the way your fingers dance over my skin, hot and rough,
your mouth hungry for every kiss I can give. I love the bruises you leave on my body
because it's your mark, the way you've claimed me in lust, pretty love and greed.)
But then my phone rings and it's you,
the only thing I can say is yes to you.
(And we are the perfect tragedy
just waiting to happen.)
(A/N: Trying to get over my writer's block.)