I am drinking you slowly, a waterfall slipping under the cusp of my tongue. I taste you in the summer sun and watch as it sets on a scene that I’ve captured between finger nails. They dig like treasure hunters sifting through abandoned ships and empty coal mines, trapped in expanding rib cages that guard our swelling hearts. I’ve become swollen under your touch. Can you feel the way I pulsate? This burning is almost inhuman and I cannot tell you how many times I have gasped, feeling these fornicating fires rip through me time and time again. I am hopeless, love. I am ripped in the tides and pulled under the current of your touch, rippling beneath bed sheets that are woven in sighs and uneven breaths. They speak a heavy truth. You are heavy against me, around me, within me. I want to take you to that cliche place in the stars where we melt our tongues against empty promises and silken wishes that drip, like a swirl of galactic honey in our eyes. Tell me, can we smoke up the stars tonight? My skin is burning and I believe I have finally become every forest, every beating vessel, that has ever been devoured in your all consuming fire.