I don’t want you to let me dream of youwhere blood beats in perfect pitchand drawn breath releases uponyour skin as the heated wind of a gathering storm too close to home where I know you’ll need so much more.You’ll tell yourself it’s for the best,that it’s only the pang of leaving behinda sweet soul that wasn’t what you needed.I can’t see our scars there nowor what I should have said before,it would be too wrong to take awaythe pain of those reeling ghostsembodying my body with your own.Or to see your thighs bowed openand glistening in the dark as I taste,it’s proof that all fruits hold everlasting secretsof countless bahis siteleri atoms flowing ambrosia riversunaware of the curious fingertips reaching to claim its spilled sweetness.Reaching for that rush to torch us,to pull a cry from our throats that no longer resembles a lover’s plea,no metre or any known languagebut something like a chant to old gods.I suspect we only cry out like that when suddenly ripped from the womb or when touching too close to the ether.I don’t want you to let me dream of youwhere mouths close over one anotherunder the vast spinning fiery wheels of stars,bodies writhing and touched by glows that canlı bahis siteleri have lived far longer than these little deaths,such furies aren’t meant to survive for too long. You’ll tell yourself it’s only for the best,that it’s the pang of a bright emberstill too dangerous to hold on to.I can’t see our secrets or sins there anymoreor the tears my lips should’ve tasted,it would be too wrong to just take awaywhat should’ve bloomed from that ache when embodying your vulnerable body with my own. Or to pull away from the thunder in your chest afterthat slowly becomes a soft murmur speaking through flesh when words canlı bahis can mean too much,it’s proof that we hand over more than bodiesspilled together and so unaware that all of our aches and secrets have become ciphers exchanged through the smallest ripples in skin.Reaching for that storm and light to take us,to pull a cry from our shivering lips that no longer resembles a lover’s plea,no known cadence or any fluent tongue,but something like a chant to our primal selves.I suspect we only cry out like that when suddenly ripped from the earthor when a flash burns too close to the ether.I don’t want you to let me dream of you anymore,such a tender and furious need will never be meant to survive too long on its own,that’s what we can always tell ourselves….It was always for the best,that it’s the pang of a pain thatwe can soon just leave behind.