Two can keep a secret

I love you and your black heart,
the way you answer me, when I call.
I love you and your black heart,
the way you laugh when I am just me.
I love you and your black heart,
the way you make me come
with the tips of your fingers,
the flat of your tongue.
I love you and your black heart,
and the way your skin feels
under my palms,
the sharp of your jaw,
the soft of your thigh.
I love you and your black heart,
the way you whisper sadly, anger,
the way you whisper softer, love.
I love you and your black heart,
and remember the hotel rooms
and the restaurant booths
and holding my hand under the table.
I love you and your black heart
and your cigarettes
and your rum chocolates
and your white bathrobes
and your long showers
and your rumpled bed
and your rough burn of my voice
after you’ve spent me
and your heartbeat,
pounding,
steady,
strong.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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