If ours won't be love,
Let it be tagged madness.

Leave strings of hickeys on my demons.
So they get to know what to reach out,
Those times, when I'm losing it.

Wanna be shown not just the flowers,
But also the weeds in your garden.
I sense them somewhere behind those compartments of yours.

Let's unravel, let's savour.
Relish this blissful pores.
It's affection, it's not some curse.
Urges seeking parts numb.
For they're never really enough.

My spines whine for your touch.
Bit by bit, sensation sets alit.
It rages, it burns.
It's what your touch does.

I wanna tour.
It seems somewhere in-between
those incisors and canines of yours.
I wanna feel it deep down my lungs.
It's not one, my demons would shun.

I see it wander, even in my dreams.
For it's practically DEJA VU.


© SaAra.