lilac skin honey veins a sight under stars a perfect sweet and muted night to start answering every question you ask
I’ve heard of betraying pulses but I’d never felt six of them, from five digits and wrist under my own. Like the blood rushed to a wound but instead it became another kind of telling. I wish all wounds ached the way this does. Deep in the stomach and dull behind the eyes. A loud pain. A screaming brilliant pain.
How could something so simple be so desperate? Yet we know it was chaos between hum-close palms and rose red fingertips. Our lips stained with something from the night, faces blushed with something else. You have lit me with the most gently all-consuming fire.