Private Moonlight walking, I smell your softness

worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins & you can sharpen your knife

he is passion. he is vice. she moves up against him, the way a cold-blooded snake moves against the hot warmth of a sun. she basks in his heat, as all of her unfurls around him like a rose, thirsty for blood. his body is dark and toned and deliciously masculine, against the much slender curvature of her lithe frame. all around him, she dances the way a snake might dance. when she hears the need in her breath, hissing against his hard muscles like a song, she almost sighs for the hot thirst that grips her heart. he feels like dark, violent resurrection, lapping wickedly against her curves; and she is sinking deeper into his soul. sinking, with each kiss of carnal desire, that pulls her into him and makes her beg for his lust. against his shoulderblades, blue arms twist, hunger and coil. they tug like sharp nails, groping into his hair. they want to pull his hair; deepening their kiss with every ragged hiss of pleasure. with every poisoned touch, that draws out; long, steady and slow. like forbidden prayers whispered over a lover's aching body, she worships him in kisses darker than death, and wilder than religions.

"then I must be the dead one."
her whisper is a breathy caress against his skin. o she could die for the way he tastes in her mouth. his lips taste of bold, carnal sin and she thinks his blood tastes sweet and gunmetal, as she licks the taste of a god across her lips. she can taste the darkness upon his flesh, and she purrs and writhes for the hot taste of him that drips like rough passion against her tongue. each of her kiss is slow and hungry and ardent, as she etches her fangs into his flesh and drags down with the raw need of a starved animal, that only ever knew violence and hunger and thrill. she moves sensually and seductively and slowly, wrapping every inch of him in red, hot sin; while the rest of her worships him down, down, down to the ground; unashamed, to writhe underneath him like a dog. she wants to taste his soul, and if he had one, she thinks she wants to rip it out with bloodied teeth and watch it drown in rivers of red, red lust. she moves like wicked religion against him. breathing him in with each sigh of ecstasy. kissing him, as if each of her kiss would be her last breath of life. there is a holy tenderness in the way she moves. she is the slow, sensual hunger, as she curls around him like a song; he could be the last man standing alive, and all the world would cease to exist before the two of them.

"I've only ever loved the moon."
she drinks him like a slow, steady poison. each of her kiss becomes a prayer that wants to live inside his mouth. beneath the moon, their passion becomes an art form. when she breathes him in, her heart burns hotter than hell. when his wing crashes down upon her side, she can taste the fire upon his carnal breath; raw, wild, aching. the sharpness of his teeth catching at her lips, like the fervent hiss to a dark, cruel lullaby. he pulls away then, whispering cold words of poison, and the last of her shadowed-blues trails over his departing form like a slow-sick disease. into the night, the devil fades away, away, away. the last trace of his shadow, falling long and hard across the cursed earth, that still lingered with the hot, burning memory of him. only her voice chases after him. the silky echo of a siren's laugh, cooing for a midnight thrill; lush, caressive and filled with venomous ardency; her blood-red gaze returning to the golden apple, as a delicate smile curves her sinister lips.

"sweet dreams."

the only heaven i'll be sent to
is when i'm alone with you