Maybe We’re Demons

They’re going to tell you
straddling a boy
will give him the wrong idea.

Like how they promised
holding hands
would lead to pregnancy.

All of a sudden,
we are a tangle of
lips and teeth
and hands,

scratching,
clawing,
and branding.

You have pulled me as close
as friction will allow,
and I am still pressing,
begging to melt into your very flesh,
some way,
some how.

I splay my fingers against
the nape of your neck,
and wrap my legs around your waist.
Are we close enough now?

When we pull back
I can’t tell if the fire in your eyes
is a sign of lust and want for me
or the pyre that’s sure to meet us
for succumbing to our “sin nature”,
acting wildly,
erotically,
irrationally.
19 and
20. 

They say we’re “hell bound”
so you might as well be my ride or die.
If we crash and burn,
at least we’re going down
together;
eternally
you & I.

And I’m pretty sure,
I could get used to the Lake of Fire,
if it was the same type of heat
that’s produced every time
our lips,
our tongues,
our teeth,
our bodies,
our hips meet.

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