Contributed by Karly O’Loughlin
Your lips, these sweet entryways for me to slip inside.
The way my bone marrow longs to be sucked dry;
and your hands, these warm cradles that cup the jawline of my reckless spirit.
Drowning out the wild in me in a feverish whirling of smoke and steam.
Fabric interlacing between flesh, skin rubbed raw against bone, pressing, pressing, deepening my curves and eroding sharp edges until I am a smooth stone in the palm of your riverbed. Quenched entirely in blue; a universe of you