electrickiss

there are the mornings where your back cracks as you reach over seeking for the curve of my hip and thunder rumbles through the clouds outside just a single second after your sleepy bones sigh. sometimes there are mornings where aches spread slowly down the slopes of your thighs before coming to a rest behind relaxed knees and the skin there is nice and warm when my cold ankles come to rest around them. other times there are mornings where angry winds howl through the bars of our ribcages oh-so-loudly and we’re so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired that the walls tremble in fear as we play our least favourite game of pushp

some say that a handful of names will always taste bitter on your tongue even if you never have to feel the weight of each individual letter on your tastebuds ever again but only fools would move forward without tasting other letters that could lift that bitterness off your tongue and replace it with something sweeter, gentler, tastier (refer to: the moving on)

there’s a cross inked down the flat plane of his back, one thick line of black punctured by the jut of bone, but a shrug of fabric later and that’s all gone – was it ever really there in the first place? the lone paper bag in the corner of the room has wrinkles all over its front and back, trademark symbols of wisdom and serenity – gone through mass production and rough hands. a still body of water slowly clouds over in the tub, the temperature warm enough to fight away goosebumps but cold enough for you to want to sink into it and never rise – one slow trickle is all it takes for empty gaps to fill up over