Black India Ink…
So thick and rich as it runs in rivulets down skin - the solid liquidity of a lover in my arms.
The strong, heady smell of henna and water, and black dye that stains the skin,
like the smell of sex by candlelight.
Deepest, darkest black - midnight on the Thames. There, but not, as it wavers in front of my eyes.
Single drips from a paintbrush, like a leaky faucet, or shelter behind a waterfall…beautiful and serene.
Sharp tanginess pouring across my lips; slides down my throat… like the bittersweet kiss of death, coming to take me away.
© Draickin und Phoenix
Last Updated: