I made love to the night.
Tasted her delightful sorrow and kept her demons company.
She told tales cold enough to freeze a man's hope and danced to the rhythm of my hesitation.
She rejoiced at the sight on my broken skin and bloodshot eyes.
Her beautiful freckles shone down on me, a genuine reminder that I was as small as they seemed.
Insignificant and one of an infinite amount.
Her eye watched me closely, unflinching and curious about my desires.
A beautiful creature as her, embracing a shattered soul with so much warmth.
The sound of my breaking heart, like a broken record, on repeat, was her favourite song.
She was a lover with a taste much greater than life herself.
Bewitching, enchanting.
"Many others suffer as you. Many others mistake me for death himself."
She told me.
Oh, my sweet deceiver.
In death there would be no salty licks on my ripe skin.
Death would never grip my heart until I smiled, ready to fail, only to fail the intended fail.
But you, my dark skinned lover, would fulfil each one of my fears.
You would twirl in the presence of my monsters, created from the love we keep making.
You desire me as I you, desperate to hear my bones crumble by thoughts of my empty life.
Your soft breath, harsh at times, ground my wonder and calm my third eye.
With melodies in my head, played through strings connected to my ears, I stare at your infinite beauty.
Endlessly joyous and encouraging.
Enthusiastically urging me to do the unthinkable.
Desperately needing to watch my end unfold.
I cling to my dwindling sanity, hopes in vain thus far.
Miss Night, is this truly love?
Then yours surely is constant.
My tears your favourite taste.
©️ mirthyKayla
