You have a grace-filled ring finger—the glint of your silver band illuminates my empty space. I know chapel vows are a sacred ground, but what are you doing here with your raging lust inside your hazel eyes?
I am the history you want to read, over again—you grip my spine as if you will not breathe without the graze of your fingertips upon my kindled skin. Do you want to know how badly I desire your sinful strokes?
You want to stop the continuation we have, but I will not let you. I will make you see what you have lost.
I eradicate the black nightgown from my lush figure. The remaining garments are your darlings, among my drawers of such. I unhook the black straps from my shoulder before I push down the cups; I offer your tongue my luscious view. Perhaps, from where you are standing, you can also see the wet spot of my center—the moist scent drifts around the humid air.
Hanging around my neck is the cross you have given me before we parted. Every day, as I explore the unfaithful world of dark clubs, I wear it while I let someone thrust in me. I think of you, every single night, after our retreat and whenever I lose myself during my work.
In this small room of my apartment, I am giving you what we both need. So, take off your shirt and devour my soul—unprotected. Forget about her, tonight; forget about the moralities we both wish we have. Close the distance, now—I am getting weary and sad. Slowly, floods of pain rush inside me and I can feel the break of my lungs.
If this will be the last time, then I am asking you to save me from the sin thousands of men cannot save.
This is a special story to me. My two great friends, Marithe Francois Tabo and Elvi Correos, have allowed me to use the photo above as my prompt for this verse.
WORD COUNT: 308
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.