between bullets and bodies

“Between Bullets and Bodies” She was , heart iced in chrome, Tatted rose, sharp like a blade from home. He was Mojado, born in the from Hispanic parent Raised by the hood, baptized in blood. They met at the line where the streets divide, Under moonlight thick with gangland pride. “Wrong colors, wrong time,” her pistol warned— But his touch lit fires she never mourned. Behind warehouses, kisses like war, Hands on hips, bodies begging for more. She said, “I should end you, leave you cold,” But he kissed her neck, and her grip lost hold. Sirens howled, but they stayed still, Pressed against crates, chasing the thrill. He moaned her name like a whispered sin, While her thighs closed tight, letting him in. Enemies by blood, but lust don’t lie— They’d die for their set, but still ride high. She wore his chain beneath her vest, While he marked her name across his chest. Now every shootout, every street flame, Is laced with sweat and the thrill of shame. BMS and Mojados — worlds apart, But when night falls… they share one heart.