Cinder Kiss

Your name tastes like winter —
all saltwater breath and burnt sugar.
You move through me like smoke through cathedral glass,
slow, shivering —
a sermon carved from black lungs.

I have prayed beneath your teeth —
tongue split open,
bleeding devotion into your hands.
Every touch —
a soft ruin,
every breath —
a fever hymn sung in the dark.

Would you drown me in your hunger?
Would you kiss me to cinder
and call it mercy?

I would follow you down —
a ghost wrapped in wire,
a choir of aching mouths
singing you into forever.