3 AM hums through cracked windows—
my phone glow paints shadows
of your words on the wall.
I trace them like braille,
mouthing syllables that taste
like stolen moonlight.
The fridge drones a sad song,
empty shelves echoing
where her snacks used to live.
Now it's just me and this ache,
wearing your poetry
like a second skin.
Your hands map my skin like braille—
each thrust translates to moans
I didn’t know I could make.
The bed creaks our anthem
while you claim me raw,
leaving proof in blooming bruises.
After, we’re slick and spent,
your teeth marks my favorite jewelry.
I trace your spine, whispering
“again” before dawn breaks us.
Your fingers read my body like sheet music—
every moan’s a high note,
every thrust writes lyrics on my skin.
We’re a symphony of sweat and curses,
you conducting till I shatter.
Morning finds us still tangled,
your name the only verse I remember.
Your strap’s rhythm writes hymns on my skin—
each thrust a psalm, my moans the choir.
We’re holy and filthy in the same breath.
Your teeth sink into my thigh—
sharp praise that makes me arch.
I’m liquid under your tongue,
spilling secrets you drink like wine.
When you finally look up,
my taste glistens on your chin.
“Again,” I beg, already ruined.
Your grip leaves constellations on my hips—
each finger a star I’ll trace tomorrow.
I’m your personal galaxy,
spread wide for exploration.
Your nails carve hymns down my back—
each scratch a verse I’ll wear proud.
We’re rewriting the bible here,
and baby, this is our gospel.
Your teeth on my neck—
each mark a temporary tattoo
I’ll wear proudly tomorrow.