In a simpler time perhaps
we would not be cast out
for purulent thoughts.
The joy of touch is
not equaled to condemnation.
Scarlett is not a colour
of eternal judgement but
rather a colour to stimulate
thoughts into erotic fantasies.
Where writhing in frenzies
under partner de jour is as
acceptable as wearing white
after labor day...
In an honest moment of lucidity
we compromise who we are
to grace the pages of society,
all the while worrying if
we can achieve that climatic stage.
Falling prey once more to
hearts sinful desires.
Angles of the body protrude
as heightened awareness
rolls off the tongue,
lapping up the small crumbs
that are left after
the feast is over.
And slowly as reality
crumbles back into place
and labored breathing subsides
I realize I don't even know your name....
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
