Miasma above will cling to our love.

Match each movement, am I _enough_?

Mesmerized by your sardonic eyes—

murky and mysterious—

_my demise_.

“Men will come and men will go,”

More I say, less I know.

Minds apart in a slicing flow,

Motion halts in a violent kiss,

My mantra is this:

Make me bleed… let it show.

Make me bleed…I won’t say no.

Mirror my movements, concealed in silk.

Marks on skin, sharp as our desire.

Make me crave that metallic savor,

Mimic the blood on my ruby, red lips.

Make me unravel, silk by silk.

Miasma above clings to our love.

My push, your pull—a final shove.