His eyes are wild and livid and alive as we break apart - lips separated, hearts entwined.
"Love me," I say. I want to scream it. I want to get on rooftops and tell the whole world that I am not sinner, that my lover is not a sinner, that there will be no bond purer than ours. That there will be no love more real than what I find in his hazel eyes.
"Shh," his hands are so cold from the fear of being caught and his finger tips graze my skin like he's trying to imprint love letters on my cheeks, things he cannot say out loud, "In the dark, my love. In the dark. I shall love you when it's dark."
He kisses me again and he tastes like fear and lemon sweets and cold strawberries and bitter hope.
Then he's gone and I am left alone to wait until the world sleeps, so our love can awaken.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Hearts
Poetry"You either get it down on paper or jump off a bridge." - Charles Bukowski Just snippets of stories I can't seem to get out of my head. All cover credit goes to the wonderful @mydearcc
