liyana,

‘Kisses covering gashes.’

You whispered. In some nights, I could hear you whisper at the tail end of your breath. When passion devoured us senselessly. I could hear your words.

Etched in the moment of tenderness. Of wild excitement.

Holding my head steady, you said to me, ‘my wild wild love.’

I only stared into your dark lovely eyes. Intense with heat. Treacherous with desire. A bottomless pit of abyss that I fell into. Repeatedly. The unending cycle of pleasure.

It was the deep end of your gaze that tore my chest open.

Your luscious pair of lips. It was maddening. I clamped my mouth onto it. Forcing surrender.

And you. I want to burn into.

Immolation.

…

“Madox,what is the name of that hollow at the base of a woman’s neck? At the front. Here. That hollow about the size of an impress of your thumb?”

My favourite line in The English Patient by Michael Oondatje.

I wanted to know too. It drove me mad too. That same anatomy in you.

You, the adventurer. Raveled in all things new and different. You made it a vocation to explore the world. You brought back stories and coloured my nights with it.

I only have desire to explore you.

Between us. The boundaries cease to exist.

chairil