Free Verse
Adjust your grip. Top Story - June 2026.
Come, sweet soul, sit next to me, the edge of my bed has been waiting. Take off your disguise, unclothe your ribs holding you back. I know we're both dreaming of the taste of afterlife. Sharp and sweet, and carnal like licking honey off a blade. Come, adjust your grip. Land your hand on my throat, feel the hot pulsing of my overflow— choking the life out of me. Burn your kisses against every vertebra under my dew dripping, smoking skin. Where my knees are bruised, dedicated to my lovers. Grab my butt and turn me 'round, fill the void in my hollow soul, just a minute longer. One more minute longer. And I let you, with mouth resting open, tongue tasting your smoky fingers. Fill up my throat with your loving, primal— until your eyes roll back into your skull.
By Imola Tóth5 months ago in Poets
