his heart beating,
his chest heaving.
And I’m lying here,
naked,
ripped open,
needing him inside me.
Not to come again, but to be closer.
This ache for it comes out of nowhere,
feeling ancient.
It wraps around me.
Hits me.
Hammers.
Chest tight.
Goosebumps.
Throat closes up.
And I can’t breathe.
An Angel-ache, I decide.
Not because it feels good.
'Cause it hurts like a grieving guitar solo.
A feeling way too deep to belong to me,
attacking the wrong person.
It doesn’t give a shit if I want it or not.
It’s here anyway.
A painful hollow. A scream with no sound.
My body begging to be full of him,
to stop the empty echo.
The climax isn’t relief, it’s vacancy,
a hole in my ribcage crying for him.
He’s still down there,
lazy licks, breathing me in,
