Does it always have to come this, chaste or unchaste,
rubbing raw this phony sense of holiness, when all we want to do is be wanton,
and for no real good reason except that it feels so good?
Can we use our tongues for more than talk, to explore those holes
we know are rarely holy, front, back, top, bottom, inside out, words getting us
through the door, though it takes much more to convince you to undress, to let
me come inside where it always feels the best, this unchaste moment we knew had
to come, even when we claimed we would avoid it all, our brains painting it all
out, planning it like a military campaign, finding some way to get you to
surrender, to give in, to let me find those parts kept most secret, to make
unchaste what we might keep chaste if we foolishly kept to the promise we would
not go there, knowing the whole time, this is where was always wanted to go
No comments:
Post a Comment