• kmbwrites 35w

    He’s got a poison tongue and
    he hunts me with delicately selected words.
    Words that quiet my fight or flight-
    suppress my nervous system.
    All logic is replaced with a warm whiskey,
    slow dripping into my veins.
    He approaches me slowly, almost cautiously, with his deadly mouth-
    And in one agile move,
    A venom kiss.
    It’s too late for me now.