“These bones. They are branded
with your name. And I wonder, can you
hear my skin whispering, calling for you?”
These bones. They are branded with your name. And I wonder if you can hear my skin whispering, calling for you. As the moon rises, the iron of your grip will connect with my flesh, leaving nothing behind. My lips beg, “Please,” and you revel in every sound I make. You don’t respond. Because you don’t have to. I can read the hunger in your eyes as they devour me inch by agonizing inch. By the time our worlds collide, at long last, nothing else remains but the thundering of my heart, the sounds of our breathing, and the last coherent thought I hear, says, “So it begins,” before I become flame.
© Sarah Doughty