Said the Lion to the Lamb
"You left before I woke and now the room feels cold. Do I dare move from these crumpled sheets, this mattress that slumbers in the musk of you? In the twilight hours, you caught my breath between your teeth as I held your bleeding soul between my palms. Though I’d given you everything, I wanted to give you more. I longed to wrap your hollowed skeleton in my skin, and heave the fiery essence of you into my cold veins. Giving you my body was the least of it. The whole time, you held me like a glass vase, afraid to shatter my fragile walls. I begged for you to dive right in, and you danced around the surface, unsure of yourself, unsure of me. It’s okay though. I’m unsure of me, too. Unsure of the untamed scars etched into my being. Unsure of the starved, bone-thin frame this soul calls a home. Unsure of the wildfire burning, consuming, licking the backs of my pupils. I can feel it making its home there, in the back of my brain. An unquenchable curiosity, a never-ending ache. I leave the bodies of lovers piled in the wake of trying to destroy it. Perhaps you will be one too. Perhaps you will save me. Maybe I’ll save you. Who is to know? But as we wait to find out, let me dip my hands into the sloppy, wet mess of your soul as we morph into a single being on this wild planet we call home."
