TW // suicide implied + too many illicit scenarios
My cherry-red lips bled into your wine-stained shirt;
I drank your blue eyes and plucked petals off your flower bed for the sake of it;
Don’t worry darling, we’ll swerve our chastity like two masterminds with one soul and keep our rendezvous covert;
Nights that scathe my bones and wrench your flesh, I closet in my heart for a perfect fit.
Candlelit stairwells that lead to portals of our dark minds’ abyss;
One creek in the stair equals two kills for the soul;
Broken ribs and desiccated flesh, thrusting blood-stained knives hurt like a first kiss;
Old haunts in dilapidated libraries and favouritism in medieval castles are desires I stole.
You said, “Paint me a starry hued daydream strewn across your bed sheets that I writhed on.”
I said, “I drape myself in ambrosia to seize the amber streaks in the day, must I love you
ferociously until I die?”
You kissed away the dilemma, you bit away the uncanniness, you touched away the separation… all gone.
My lipstick stains your chest as she tears your shirt apart; for me you would only let your blood congeal, dry.
Clandestine routes back home, roses placed against my ear;
One loud whisper equals two kills for the heart,
Vigilant eyes and prudent steps, slow-dancing in the foyer till you let my lipstick smear;
We run, we stare, we laugh, we kiss, we fall from grace and then we part.
Love me till my sweet nothings turn rancid in the darkest hours;
Tame my pulsing heart in the dead of the night and kiss the sweat beads away;
Squeeze my hand, my darling, when no one’s watching- a secret language of ours;
I’ll reach out to the clouds in your head and trace your footprints till they lead me astray.
Caged flames that ignite your nerves, docile wounds that chisel away my skin;
One loud cry equals two kills for the body;
Two bruises that entwine, two broken hearts that coincide, two fatal desires that grin,
Two palms that kiss, two eyes that pine and pierce, two bodies that free-fall akin to feathers so shoddy.
Her pale-blue lips now bleed into the scarlet of his forehead;
Whispers melt into the night breeze and to the two souls that fled;
No more rueful tears to shed.
~ Riddhi Chakraborty
Notes: Did I or did I not just write something awfully dark about the forbidden love trope?
Swan's Labyrinth 