From Plato’s definition, “love is a serious mental disease”; describing a romantic love.
black hollow eyes
and red irises dance wildly
waltz style, two by two in seven times two, i second that. gold darkness, tongues licking, flares
hands locked, and satisfied fingers.
naked hot bloody eaten
excuse my french. i’m drunk and torn from red roses, my tongue’s occupied
with two many breathss
both his and mine; locking, interlacing and drinking scarlet hearts.
no interjections, flat out flattery, no tongues no lies.
but i’m watching myself drown in my lover’s liquor cave, our heartbeats reverberating, a feeling i can’t understand or explain
in a rather untimely spell too hard, i fell
to insanity, luckily no bruises, no bleeding
inside of me. i’m safe, in his eyes. those eyes.
i’m tainted? no, untainted
no regrets. nonetheless, i know too well
when a pair of hearts beat, they’re alive.