Just a little bit of pink in the middle. That’s the way I like my steak.
A slow bite and pull of the meat.
It makes me hungry.
You remind me of that steak.
Just a little bit of pink. Just a little bit of sizzle.
Tasting your skin. Tasting your lips. The juices dripping from the succulent parts of your body.
Dinner time, baby.
You make me a bad writer. My words are clunky and short. They’re like stuttered reaches of my hand for your thighs. You’re turning me into a carnal being, only interested in feasting on your flesh with my lips and tongue. Come here, pretty. I want to devour you.
It isn’t always like this. When I’m remembering you it’s all about flowers and eternal beauty. It’s about love and depth. But when I can smell your lavender coconut shampoo and see the darkness painted along your eyes every coherent thought sinks. The claws come out. The teeth grow long and sharp. That red cape never looked so good on you.
I get stupid around you. My mind grows duller. The tip to my pencil breaks and all I can think about is the way my hands need to hold you and my lips burn unless they’re kissing you.
There are two sides of me and I find it fascinating how far apart on the spectrum they are. You’re responsible for one of them, the world is responsible for the other. I’ve indulged in both and fed them until they’ve grown into separate entities.
They both hibernate.
There is little that can stop them when the scale is tipped in their favor.
Despite the appearance of one, they are both extremely passionate. One shows it in a traditional way, while the other in symptoms.
I want your skin in my teeth. My fingers should puncture the still plains of your skin and press a white knuckled intensity into them. You should feel how I want you in the palms of my hand as I grip every fleshy part of you to take as my own.
Fuck you taste good. Just a little bite?
The indentations of my teeth along your shoulder won’t fade as quickly as the moments of lust I drive into you. That little stare you gave made my eyes squint. The brush of your hair behind your ear caused my teeth to grit. The side glance and head tilt was the on switch. The rest belonged to me onto you. So Mr. Hyde feasted.
The other side is not subtle, if Mr Hyde can be considered it. Where Hyde uses his teeth Jekyll uses his mind to fuck the submission away from the dominant. It all leads to an explosion of want and greed without gratification. A turn of keys and cogs to push everything in me further and further to the pinnacle.
Ask of me what you want and it will be done. Push the limits of every listed limit. Find limits that were hidden and break them. I’ll worship your steps and burst with praise. I am yours, always. So Dr Jekyll indulged.
When one is awake the other’s asleep. They do not cross and they do not meet.
One up high and the other down low. One side tells and the other side shows.
Your honey is stuck coating my lips. Those bee sting lips that I pray to at night while I’m asleep. My dreams are filled with the buzz of bumblebees.
Dreams are often strange like that. Converting thoughts into picture form but distorted through reality. You’ve stung me so many times how else could this go?
That honey is thick though. I’ve sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and pulled with my tongue so many times but you’re still there. Your brush painted across my hungry mouth. I invited you in. You’re so naturally sweet that it can never be too much.
So I’m stuck here with my mouth barely able to open, as if it was kept shut by a sticky candied sugar kiss that lingers until I die off to sleep.
Tell me that you want me. Show me.
Tighten your back and weaken your hips. Bend.
You always had bad posture, now lets put it to use.
I’m a bull and you’re wearing red.
Flared and charging down Pamplona’s streets.
Predator and prey,
but you want to be hunted.
As I sink my teeth in I cannot resist
and your mouth falls open in a frenzy
If I could think in that moment I’d wonder
who was hunting who
If I could think in that moment
then you wouldn’t be you.
The little space between your legs
when they’re pressed together.
Light shines through
as does the lust,
my minds in a tether.
It’s a view of me and you
and your body contorted.
Bent in half at hunger’s wrath
feasting until morning.
That heart-shaped space
with thighs closed tight
pulling at my strings.
Ripped and torn
pouring sounds of want
and any craving that it brings.
Kisses aren’t sweet. They’re described as if they’re a sugary dessert. Something with a whipped topping. A treat after a long day or the delicious cap to a full meal, but they aren’t anything like that.
A kiss, if you had to describe it with a food analogy, is more of a steak. Medium rare. The right amount of pink and the right amount of something else. It’s dripping and sizzling at the same time. It makes your mouth water in anticipation and when you finally delve in you don’t want to stop until there’s nothing left.
You’re like that. You aren’t sweet. When they made you they purposely left out the sugar and threw in some extra spice. It shows up in your smirk, in your hips and in the back of your eyes when they glint against the light.
You sear my skin when you lay your body against me. You leave marks and they burn deep. A cake is just bread with sweetener. You’re much more appetizing than that. I think about you all day and when it’s time to feast you can’t stop me. You make me hungry. I want to leave the impressions of my teeth on your shoulder. I want to hear the sounds the deepest part of your throat can muster.
Kisses aren’t sweet, at least yours aren’t. Your kisses are a tidal wave and I want to get swept away.