Oh, my love, you are the stone

tied neatly to my ankle,

pulling me down into the depths,

where air is only a memory.

Your touch is fire, scorching bright,

blistering where your fingers trace.

Your lips—like thorns upon a rose,

soft, yet eager to make me bleed.

I drown in the ocean of your voice,

saltwater filling up my lungs.

Each whispered word, a storm that breaks,

leaving wreckage in its wake.

So hold me close, my sweet disaster,

drag me deeper, let me fall.

For love, they say, should take your breath—

and you, my dear, take it all.