Poetry (words)


You know how good it gets and how powerful it can feel. It’s more than a weakness, it’s my Achilles heel. 

I’m not immune to hunger she’s the tempest in my bed. I’ll lie here and think of you,  hands tied above your head. 

It’s the way you say my name when my hands devour your soul. It’s the way you bite your lip when I’m in control.


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