Unraveling

I breathe you in like smoke,

thick, clinging, suffocating.

Your chaos weaves into my ribs,

threading through bone,

tethering me to a tempest I cannot flee.

You taste of obsidian skies,

of ruin and rebirth,

of shadows that whisper promises

only the damned would keep.

You press me into the edges of existence,

where pain births pleasure,

and the void murmurs our names.

I crave the weight of your control,

your fingers around my throat -

a collar of molten iron,

binding me.

Let me tear open the seams of your soul

and wear it like silk,

a second skin that burns

as much as it comforts.

But even as you bound me,

your hands like chains,

your eyes like promises too old to break,

I saw the tremble in your shadows.

What power aches for what it cannot have?

What conqueror fears his own reflection?

You pulled me close

to keep yourself from unraveling.

And I let you.

You hold me like I’m fragile

but kiss me like I’m immortal,

a contradiction as tender as it is intoxicating.

All I see is the curve of your lips,

the weight of your gaze,

the shadows that cradle me

like a lover’s hands.

Every sigh is a prayer,

every touch, a confession.

And when I breathe you in,

I am home,

no matter how far from it I’ve wandered.

Let me trace the lines of your soul,

the jagged edges and soft curves.

Let me worship the parts of you

the world has tried to forget -

the gentle hum beneath your storms,

the warmth you hide beneath shadows.

I am not afraid of your fire,

only of losing its heat.