she removed her cross before reaffirming, “just casual, ok?”
destroying. desire. unraveling. lust. despair.
the beloved, sweet mortal breath shared between plush lips parted slow,
falling to her knees, she begs, leaning against the condemned lover. For she, already outcast, understood it was a mirror of consequence should she ever confess—
Devour.
All that matters is how much she yearns.
Pulsing electricity with each nibble that whispers to the body,
I promise, I promise.
Just say it, I will do anything for you,
I will lay down upon my own sword if it would assuage the guilt of sin. I am unclean, a lecherous leper who forgot to cover her mouth tonight. Keep breathing the steady rhythm of innocence, cherubs above what dearest. For her, always.
What would I let her do?
Anything, anything.
It’s pathetic.
Live quietly just to pretend love is real, basking in the bliss of delusion again.
Everytime she brightens, sunlight wins.
Imbecilic. Born heartless just to discover it was already beholden to somebody ashamed to possess its weight.
Limbs entwine shea soaked softness wafting to vanilla mist. What would be the point to tell her? Elegance akin to that of brushstrokes in the Renaissance, Aphrodite would place upon her own altar this relic, irresistibly sweet laugh the opening to heaven’s gate. Outstretched hands rose to cradle the beautiful, tracing, memorizing scripture before exile.
If God were real, she wouldn’t allow insatiable cupidity to turn mana to ash, to offer a body as communion and left starving.
She wouldn’t offer immutable surrender that punished the heart until it fawned.
She would avoid the attention of this angel, and be left to rot, petulant broken vessel.
