I didn't like the taste of grapefruit the first time I tried it way back when. I was 10 and it lingered in my mouth for too long; its acrid flavors teasing my buds unlike how you tease me in the bedroom. But meshed onto your teeth and tongue- with my wanton words caught in-between- I learned to savor it on my own and allow all the growing storms tumble out of my throat as though I needed to breathe; needing to re-construct myself consistently on how to breathe when I feel your heat.
My bones go frail and my head goes light, I become overwhelmed with a hunger for every piece of you- from the whimpers you spare to the words you mumble. I've always loved everything you fed me- even the poison you'd slip into my drink with every kiss in the morning. Slowly, I became no more my own person, but a relic with a still gaze in the direction of your sleeping frame from up upon your cold, hard shelf.