Between Bruises & Blooms

You tasted like something
I should have survived,

not something
I should still crave.

Like blood
bitten from my own lip.

Like whiskey
on an empty stomach.

Like every warning
I’d ever been given
pressed against my mouth
and called desire.

I knew.

That’s the worst part.

I fucking knew.

There was venom
beneath your tongue,

something wicked
hiding behind
the way you said my name.

And still,

I opened my mouth.

Still let you kiss me
like you were trying
to leave fingerprints
somewhere no one else
could see.

Still leaned closer
when every instinct
should have made me run.

You were never gentle.

But God,

you knew how to make
danger feel tender.

How to drag your mouth
along the edge
of my restraint

until no
forgot what language
it belonged to.

How to look at me
like hunger
was a form of worship.

And maybe
that’s why I stayed.

Maybe I mistook
being devoured
for being desired.

Maybe when you’ve spent
long enough starving,

teeth
can feel an awful lot
like affection.

So I let you consume me.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until there was nothing
left between us
but tangled sheets,

half-healed wounds,

and the terrible realization

that poison
doesn’t always kill you.

Sometimes
it teaches your body
to miss it.

Sometimes
you escape,

wash their scent
from your skin,

swear you’ll never
let another beautiful monster
through the door—

and months later,

in the quiet,

your mouth
still remembers.

Your pulse
still betrays you.

Some ruined little part
of you
still wonders

what would happen

if you took
just one more taste.

That’s the cruelty
of surviving you.

I know exactly
what you are now.

I know your sweetness
was venom.

I know loving you
nearly hollowed me out.

I know better.

I survived.

And somehow,

when the night
gets lonely enough,

I still crave
the poison.