her blushing lips are overripe and bleeding into mine. there are bees skirting the walls of her veins, sketching a rhythm louder than her pulse and turning her blood into syrup. she's an addiction like homemade strawberry jam with a dash of nicotine. i want to tell her i love her to orion and back, if only i can get the words off the clutches of my traitorous throat. maybe it doesn't matter what i say, we are out there alone, testing the treacherous waters of the deep sea, and maybe that is enough.
