This pen between guilty finger tips bleeds with each write. Emotions tongue tasting and telling on me and my love for my own hypocrisy. I should not love in this way of written adultery, yet it's existence is stitched and woven through my broken heart. The yearning of disappearing distances commence with each word he loves unto me.
The "what if's" rapes my mind, removing the loneliness once obedient and now signatures ghostly initials upon my tanned skin.
​I weather my confusion of morals and upbringing of which I no longer feel its pulse through my inked veins. Here I stand beneath gray clouds, as it sheers these mountains of reminders surrounding our imprisoned truth. Drops of red ink descend upon my mind from darkened skies, streaming to my heart and flooding on submissive paper. In cursive these binds slowly unravel, straddled between wet words and violent scenes where latex preferences and love of the darker sort are accepted.
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Salty blotches silently screams its voice of rejected love amongst the scriptures. Abominations we are, fornicating on letters lubed with lust and coveting what belongs to another. My pen glides on your lap of ecru pages, leaving my essence upon you and staining your craved nostrils. Altruistically, I curse your mind and sleep with my haunt, as you have done unto my own belonging.  Now, as I lay in my bed beside my righteousness, I think only of  the sin I now love and its approach to claim and murder my willing heart each day I fall. We prep for the war to come when all must end within reality's jealous boundaries. Till then, we hypocrite in love, not fearing the fires created for the unrighteous such as ourselves and I am content to burn in that familiar embrace spoken of so many times, if your words hold true to only me and remain in its most favored place.