JadensPhoenixOfLight

The moon is a newly spun toy, the gilded play thing of lovers who wrap protestations around limbs and move in ancient tongues under the sheets of dreams. The after-taste of your body on mine is the powerful shock wave where half-worlds collide and wreck the night with unholy music. Your fingers implore me and beg for damage, each inch of you a bruise of my lips and a livid scar that puckers the wicked edge of my want...