Intimacy

He is a toxic man.
He slaughters my moral's with the touch of his fingers along my shivering skin,
as he pours the coffee I craved since I woke up in his grip months before,
The intention was deceptively innocent, but lust conquers my senses when I enter his dreary bachelor pad.
Home to two glasses of wine, drunk previously with another women, I set myself up for the greatest disaster I have ever known.
My mind screams in the sharpest tone to turn around, walk away, and leave this boy to his own devices.
My heart is naive.
The heart beating in my childish chest tells me that good resides in everyone.
I often confuse love with dishonorable intentions.
"Why didn't you move on," he cleverly asks beneath his fingertips.
"Because...I...just didn't."
The most transparent attempt to disguise love, was uncovered that morning beneath  sheets of Egyptian cotton. 
How do you pretend that a handsome mans touch doesn't make your legs shake in ecstasy?
How can you look into the eyes of someone who shredded your heart to pieces, and not instantly forgive him?
I tell myself,
Give in.
Let go of your body, because your skin, your flesh, even your callused hands,
do not belong to you anymore.
I am a used notch on his bed post, and despite the subtle inconsistencies, I fall for him every single time I nonchalantly brush my hand along his cheekbone.
I am as hooked as a kite on a string, and he is the breeze pushing me towards the tallest evergreen tree's,
Caught for someone else to retrieve from the branches.
Brilliant men could climb to the top, and become lost in the shades of lush leaves,
But I will always long to be swept away by the rush of a cool wind.