Sacrifice & Sickness

His eyes are the green forest backdrop and blue waves clawing themselves desperately onto the seashore; his pale, freckled body the white sands of the island paradise. The hair on his head is red and untamed, like fire, melting his body into a smoldering distinction between destruction and beauty.

Oh, my man, he is as large as the sky and as deep as the ocean.

In the mornings, he smells like his coffee: black and bitter. After returning from a long day of work, he carries home the aroma of oil and dirt and sweat. I inhale him, even if it burns, even if it carries the chemicals through my veins.

Whether or not I am his queen, this man has always been a king. Fortunately for the people in his life, he is no tyrant. Unfortunately for me, he is so sweet that he rots my teeth and raises the sugar so high in my veins that it seeps through my pours and mineralizes atop of my skin.

He inhales me, even if it destroys all of his other senses, even if it turns him blind. He tastes me, even if it kills him, because what would true love be if it were not sacrifice and sickness?

Reviews

[Jamestown]

You just, proved my first comment. Keep up the good work.

[Stephanie Binding]

Thank-you very much, sir!