Soft Enough To Bleed

Part 8: Intimacy. Bruised And Divine

Intimacy, Bruised and Divine..



I crave it —
Not the tenderness they scribble in bedtime stories,
But the velvet ruin pressed behind locked doors,
The hush of your hunger spelling my name between the folds of your breath.

I want a closeness that claws and croons —
A pulse tangled in my veins like an oath you only intend to keep.
Pressed palms against my ribs,
Like a soul seeking sanctuary —finding fire as passion as well.

Love, come kiss the tired angels from my shoulders,
Replace their wings with your teeth,
Brand me holy in the quietest heresy.
Let me be the ruin you desecrate slowly,
Kneel at the altar of my heart with a mouth full of secrets
And the patience of the sun and moon.

I ache for a touch to fracture my composure,
To make melody of my broken sighs —
Pluck confession from my throat and drink it down like strawberry wine.

I want my doubts pinned to the mattress —
And promises through my hair,
Whispered lies so sweet I’ll beg for them to be to repeated.
I don’t want to be another favorite mistake,
I want to be the lesson you choose learn —
I want my ruin wrapped in silk,
And mercy so I don’t have to masquerade my wounds.

I want to drown in the trembles carved along my skin,
To wear fingerprints like a badge of honor,
To count each bruise as a vow to sacred to speak aloud.
Let me be both the question and the answer —
Ache and absolution,
the soul you cradle when the world turns to ash.

I long to be undressed with silence,
To be split open with sighs —
To have someone lick the sweetness from my sorrow,
And name it sanity.
To bury their loneliness in my mouth,
And let me hold it there
Until dawn forgives us both.

And when morning crawls through the curtains,
I hope to wake tasting of loves devotion —
Sweet, sharp,
Bruised, divine —
A body built from longing,
A temple trembling from trying.