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kisses shared in the dark. you taste the blood on his lips and you lick it off.
they call you crazy because don't you see? he's a monster!
darling, you say. his hands may be stained, and he might've killed a man, but he is not a monster. how can someone who's kiss is so gentle, so divine, be a monster?
no, he is not a monster. he is other worldly, divine, a drug I cannot help but taste. I am icarus and he is the sun and he has cast me down when all I longed for was a taste of his lips, but he is not a monster. he is god, and I am the tower of babel, and I must be toppled, but he is not a monster. that is what you say, but you are lying. he is a monster, but so are you.
when you lie together, you carve scars into the others back. you like to watch it bleed. sometimes you lick it, desperate to get the golden ichor spilling from his back on your tongue. you are like a bee, and it is sweet honey from which you can't resist.
you heal his wounds in vain because you always re-open them, desperate to taste sinew.
yes, your love is the hungry kind. the monstrous kind. the kind where you want to devour him, suck marrow from bone. the kind where he leaves kisses that burn into your skin, branding you as his. the kind where you spend all night clawing at each other, because your hunger for him is insatiable and he the same.
he's not a monster, you say. but he is, and so are you. he is satanic kind of beautiful, and you love that because his beauty never scared you.