Sunday
My poise was cold, structure unbalanced,
The coat of fear covered my heart.
A plague to my soul.
A foreseen death, a lamb in love with a lion.
To be lost in him would be my sin.
I forced myself into his warmth,
Drunk with his musty scent.
His sweet and sticky breath seeped
Through me, covering every inch.
He inside me, and I deep in him.
His lips tickled my skin, my fingers danced on his.
I hummed and familiar tune to his liking,
Enticing him to stay a bit longer.
Wanting more of him would have been
Forbidden by my mother, but to love him
Would be unfamiliar, and an idea to consider.
Could I have been more foolish to want a being
Beyond my reach? A testament to God, in fate
I will stand. Holding on to the illusion
That prayer will salvage.
Naked was I, but somehow more exposed
Than what I appeared, as if screaming truth!
But could not be heard. Or could I have been
More invisible, in thought that he never saw me.
Gripping the sheets that were covered in our love
I soaked myself into them, bathing in the musk.
The memory replays itself in my mind, unable to press stop
Could I possibly forget? Wanting to only seems right.
Lost in him was my sin.
It was my own destruction, my blame and flaw.
A holy day that hardly felt sacred. My heart felt raped,
Stripped away the strength I had left.
The art of love
Can be found in the unreasonable times,
It can also tamper the heart, unease the mind.
Thus it is the fire to our soul.
We are addicts to the drug of lust and servant to the lover.
The end of life as we know it.
Blamed thy self in order to honor the heart.
Crushed, broken,and raw flesh, my heart still beats.
Wishful thoughts rest the mind.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, an eternal sleep.
Time will not be missed.