Taste of Sin

The guilty fingerprints of wretchedness, itself

Trails down the curvature of your spine 

And I, for one, could not resist

The curiosity of all it possesses  

The brilliance of your complexity creates a disturbance 

My conscience consumed by the your bare visage

Stripped of innocence, dainted with my filthy fingers

But not at all in the sexual way, you are assuming

I need an explanation  

Am I an infatuated sinner?

By indulging into the thirst of temptation

To be moved by the angelic physicality of such a creature

And holding no shame