Author: Vermilion-Villian

Her Lips

Are lightening, the last drag on a cigarette

And I suck till

The Fire

Deeply inhaled

The burn on my throat.

The taste of you on my tongue.

It is in that moment

Just before you pull away

That I feel the desperation

Of an addict

I pull you back into me.

It’s my weakness, not yours

And while my mouth says

Goodbye

My heart whispers

Don’t go.

When I exhale, it hurts.

My eyes feel heavier

My chest feels emptier

And my mind instantly remembers

That you aren’t mine

And that every kiss

Is another line, cut

From your personal stash.

I pull because you feel like home.

You push

Because you know

That I would drink you in

Nonstop

Until it kills us both.

You know the effect you have on me and just how hard it is to resist you.

When you walked into the office the way a ballet dancer would after a performance; lighter than air and with the grace of a swan landing on a lake without causing a ripple. I noticed your heels first

**tap, tap, tap**

Across the hardwood floor of the office. That sly half-smile when you glanced my direction. The same heels you wore Wednesday last week when you drew me into the copy room to ask me if I remembered the kiss.

Christmas office party, and you were in that tight pencil skirt and ugly ass sweater. I didn’t think much of you then, just a coworker having fun at the party; but when you grabbed my tie and drew me under the mistletoe and into your lips, you became my every obsession. Like a drug, I need you.

You asked if I could help with the machine, but the way you bit your lip told me you wanted more. When you drew the shades and locked the copy room door, it happened. It was dark, but the tingling touch of your hands wrapping around my neck, the wet taste of your tongue flicking against mine was like a line of Columbia’s finest; my heart beating a furious cadence. Read more »