smoke

do 

you 

still 

taste 

me?

because I remember your hunger.

I remember when 

you 

consumed without number

and I wonder

if I miss your fingertips

and how they yearned to resist

as your spit and your kiss

dragged you long and bewitched

it’s a risk –

so please the cynics – come play – 

secrets don’t need 

any riches to pay

for my price 

is simply time

plus a little 

piece of mind

Accuse me 

of playing with fire 

– of 

– desire

of taking you higher with magic, erratic

Accuse me of havoc

Accuse me of lust

For we are but dust and chemicals 

rolled up in skin 

paper thin

fitting in-

-to neat boxes at some cost

clear compartments 

fragile, lost

Secret, 

but am I on

the tip of your tongue? 

Do dreams replay

each thing we did wrong?

I crave for

when your exhales 

were mine

and I’m quite sure

it’s by design

that I am what 

you must not have

to ravage you 

without being asked – 

without permission, sometimes, too

when your hands seek 

some nuance of truth,

and on your fingers, 

my scent, 

still lingers

pulling you 

to a moment when

sound is silenced,

breathe me again

throw back your skull

steal time with me

give me ear to 

your sigh of release

I heard you say

in complete trust

“what I miss is 

how kind this made us”

soft, shared laughs

with friends, unmasked

life is easy

and not so fast

– truth –

so maybe you 

are each other’s excuses

but it’s no use – 

you’re on the bridge 

where the world goes quiet

this synaptic bridge 

we’ve carefully wired

this sin-apt tick 

lets the close become distant

do I tempt 

your tried resistance?

can you still feel 

my heat on your tongue?

every tooth relaxed drunk

every moan, throat-sung

so let me be

your laced escape

your favorite taste

you’re mine to take

 – make me –

though I can’t save you

fake new leaf or old one

(I’ll suffocate you)

be relieved

it’s only normal

– mortal –

more tall orders

for your mint and your brush

rush if you must

cuss 

… then stay

you can’t wash away

every happy molecule 

of grave mistake

don’t you still burn?

sure – 

a subtle reminder

of pleasure unearned

a haunting sense

of wanting deserved

so seek me out

and hold me lightly 

catch lips with doubt

flick – surprise me 

my whisping charm does not last

– so ask:

what do I get 

from all of this?

a little death 

by your lips