Phoenix feathers and stardust

The inner thoughts of a closet firecracker.

Poetry I have written is unapologetically NSFW. And protected by copyright.

Images have been found on the Internet and are not mine, contact me if they are yours and you wish them removed.

Contact me at phenix [dot] noire1 at gmail [dot] com

Skin.
That is all I remember.
Skin on skin.
You. Asleep. Awake.
Beside me. Legs sprawled free,
sprawled over me, under me,
draped around my thighs.
Skin.
How you gave goosebumps
on my everything when you spoke me into
existence. Rubbing into each other like
two genies without a lamp.
Skin.
Miles and miles of shredded skin
on your bedroom floor,
in your shower drain,
beneath the kitchen sink. Sink.
How it is when I was near you.
When all my chest wanted was
to sink into you. Melt into you.
Bodies sliding into each other.
Writing lyrics. Poems.
Sun-kissed, snow-kissed. Perfect still.
Skin on skin on skin.
The paintings on your breast,
the roughness of my curves,
the galaxies on your hip,
the lack of space for me.
Skin.
All I am left with.
Your empty sheets. And my skin.
Perfect still.

All I wanted to do today is to stand naked and breathe. Away from condemnation, praise, obligation, expectation, responsibility…
just a reverent moment to strip away everything and remember who I am.

—TFTD (via thepictorialist)

(via poetfire)