Your hands are silent executioners, each finger a hungry guillotine

Your hands are silent executioners, each finger a hungry guillotine, Let them glide over me slowly, like penance flowing as a slow river, Let them cut every last fragment of restraint that still binds us, This is not seduction, but a butchery of desires hidden beneath the skin. I want your breath to be a burning pyre in the deep night, Your mouth to become a tombstone, a sign of eternal silences, Your hips to be the event that extinguishes worlds and creates chaos. When I unravel beneath you, let it be a cataclysm of the senses, Not a silent confession, but an explosion of worlds shattering within us.