inkintheclouds
What you have. It's a simple thing. It's a small affair between the bedsheets, and nothing good is going to come of it, but that's something you already know.
He's gasping, sighing, wriggling underneath you as you slip onto him, your lips rubbing tranquil onto the rough scrape of his cheek. You whispered into his trembling ear, "yield," as you rub yourself, lower yourself into new depths of peasantry. "silence," you breathe into him, and you lean down to steal the sigh he gives to you.
The heavens must've poured deep rain water in you, because you're as hungry as hungry can climb to, but your thirst is always quenched. You look at me like I'm a fire you want to extinguish, a meal spread out for your pleasure. You take me apart careful, and brand me back together with your own ashes as a tattoo for your sick carnality. You're animalistic, and starry, and there's no way you could've come anywhere close from heaven or hell, did you know that? By the way you're put together, I'm guessing you came from purgatory.