These Black Lips

I open up. I desire. I expire. This is what I do. This is what I have always done.

‘“I love you,” you said, and I felt it in my spine. It curled. “Do you love me too?” you said, but I didn’t answer. I gave you my eyes, my throat, my cheeks. I felt you in all of my muscles. I took you into my cartilage and neurons. I opened up my cells and locked you there. I gave you everything.

“Do you love me?” you asked again and again. Words, only words. 

Words have been taken from me too often and I do not give them lightly. I sealed my lips. I did not give you your words, although I gave you everything I had.

I open up for you. I desire all that you give me. I expire beneath you. We merge, we migrate, we transcend. And still you want these words from me.

No.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Nat Newman - portrait

Nat Newman

Nat Newman is an award-winning writer of short stories, content, podcasts, feature articles, drunk text messages and, soon, a novella.

COMING SOON

The Office of Dead Letters

SEARCH OLD BLOG POSTS

latest posts

words | travel | life | beer

Do you like:

✍ words
🌴 travel
😻 life
🍺 beer?

If you said YES to any of those things, then my newsletter is for you!

Sent just once a month, you’ll get to hear about what’s going on in the world of writing, read insider tips on interesting places to visit, and hear a lot of stories about beer.