tyrants

(*'ω｀*)

i think your name melts like butter on my tongue, and i swirl my lips around it until its shape catches against my teeth, until you fit into the private ridges of my mouth;
warm and soft like the thorns of your flesh, the biting snarl of your fingers. the curl of your flute-boned wrists dwelling against the nape of my neck when you;
try to lick your smoke down into my veins, make fertile the beds of my lungs with your ash, and i