A kiss is the first hunger—

soft lips, sharp teeth,

the slow, patient ache before the feast.

Yearning is an empty stomach,

a mouth open, waiting, desperate.

It is famine and feast,

fingers trembling over bare skin,

pressing, pulling, taking.

I want you like a body needs blood.

Like jaws unhinge for the softest parts.

Like hunger that deepens the more it is fed.

Your breath, hot against my throat—

I could live here,

I could die here.

But hunger is never gentle.

It does not wait, it does not ask.

It devours, it consumes,

it leaves nothing untouched.

Love, if it is real, is not careful.

It is teeth and tongue,

the breaking of boundaries,

the ruin of restraint.

So I kiss again.

And this time, I bite.