I’ve always been a collector of pretty things. Warm books bound in leather that are perfumed in a pinewood smell. They speak of stories that I press hard behind my eyes. Stories are what lead me to you, lead me down a winding path where stars get caught in my eyes. You do it every time. I am captured, mesmerized, and captivated under the weight of your smile. A beautiful curve that became a river flowing with words meant for the artists pen. You were inspiration at first sight, and I wanted to dip my pen into you. Dip into your thoughts where secrets melt and mesh like warm butter, tasting the violence beneath your skin. You are more than these scars stretched across your heart, with every line and gash I want to write you a new song, pen you a new story. Would you let me write myself into you? I’d like to etch my words across your thighs, let you hear them as I breathe them along your skin. A breath of new life — for me, for you. Perhaps this is what we hoped for all along. Connection — in your eyes, in mine. This is what it means to want to consume in the blink of an eye. A need to devour from the inside out. It is certainly no mystery. I want to possess you, capture you in a pretty jar for my own. A warm place where I can watch your wings flutter behind frosted glass. You will be loyal, loved, and kind. That is why I’ll leave the lid open for you, my dear. I’ll set you free, but only after I’ve collected you first.
Wow … I’m overwhelmed. I’ll cherish this always. <3