The Blood & The Bones

He had no problem expressing his want for me with words. Like a primal poet who had finally found his muse and could not write or say the words fast enough. He made me feel beautiful, the way he craved me and the way he wasn’t afraid to say it. 

But I mostly preferred when he was overcome physically.. when he would take what he needed.. 

When he would pound it into me. 

Racking my body with the force of his entry. 

Digging his flesh into mine, his hands like weapons. 

His yearning a knife thrusting into my softness. 

Leaving his mark long after. Consuming the warmth and wetness of my body. Like a hunter or a beast who had not eaten for weeks. 

Claiming.. ravaging.. devouring. 

And I guess that’s why I have not really let another man touch me since him. Knowing the unworthy would just treat me with controlled want and fragility.

Until you have felt it you don’t know how hard it will be to forget a man like that. One that adores so intensely and intentionally with his mind and his body. Never afraid to love too hard.. never afraid to break me.

the blood
& the bones