The Canvas.

May 2

When the lips finally find their mark, the
body breaks—
moans melting into sobs,
sobs unraveling into prayers,
prayers dissolving into surrender.

No stopping at the first fall.
No mercy.
Each ache coaxed again,
and again,
tasting until sadness is forgotten,
betrayal erased,
names washed away in the flood of now.

Only trembling remains—
skin slick,
sheets twisted in clawing hands,
the breathless chorus of yes, yes, yes tearing free from somewhere deeper than voice.

Sucked down like a secret,
every sound drunk like wine,
every shuddering collapse taken as gospel.

Wanted.
Needed.
Claimed.
Savored.
Again.
And again.
And again.

No rules.
Just rhythm,
wet skin,
and the way the room
kept spinning
long after everything stopped.

Thighs parted with reverence,
your mouth watering long before tasting.
Tongue dragging slow along quivering skin,
pausing—
savoring the begging in every twitch, every breath.

Want drips, aching,
the scent of surrender thick in the air.
A low, *** whisper—
please.

It wasn’t just touch—
we collided.

Beast.