it's a peculiar sort of grief, longing for male friendship when men have spent most of your life making you feel as though you don't belong among them.
i lick the crimson from your skin,
and taste the darkness held within.
i press my lips against your own,
and make your wounded heart my home.
i share the red upon my tongue,
a wicked hymn forever sung.
if loving you is such a sin,
then let me bleed and drown within.
