Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes

Dark Language Of Heated Passions

Communication was something we did without using any words,
Our language was light and dark misfits,
mismatched at it's best,
delirious confusing destructing obstacles at it's worst.
Before you taught me to howl as as Wolf,
my only speech was a birds tweeting,
from burned up breadsticks that I found under the house of stars.

Your teeth gnarling attracted my tongue to your sounds,
It held power, charm, magic and my love's gift of dark passions.
My voice wanted to fly away on the wings of my ancestors,
a few times the words you tried to teach me bit me back,
my jaw raw and fleshy rashed in my mouth, wounded.

I hid the wounds of your words that violently attacked me like a headphone song,
until you kissed me with that dark passion of which I feared, now needing it more than ever before.
taking my flesh inside your mouth,
an animal's gentle wilderness,with salty licks you healed me.

you whispered we didn't need words, only this,
as you pulled the buttons off my shirt,
two by two, reached inside my bosom with your claws,
tore out a piece of my heart I'll never get back.

It still lies there tainted on your lips,
the bright pink hue of ownership of which you possessed my wounds,
which is why I guess I always look at you to save me.
the night we became one, no longer a bird flying,
a lost wolf I became and you were the leader, are the leader, my healer,
language of dark heated passionate sounds, our pride.