She walked in that night. Her
Gown dripping with damp guilt.
Her hair matted wet with shame.
It was all the same. I was used to this sight.
Used and abused by love split on the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Then she smiled at me. Her
Mouth creeping like a jester
Her words seeping slyly like a deceiver.
What a fire that burns. Yearns even.
All the while her moans echo. Another mans mind.
Not mine. Not mine.
But another mans mind.
She floats over to me. Angel.
Skin so deviously pure.
A love for which I cannot cure.
Kiss me; her hisses plain.
This is not her game.
The serpent is the blame.
Ropes. Firm on my wrists.
Gently I sweep around her neck.
Tight. Might. Fight.
Over.
Angel. Fading in her dreams.
Delicate seams are broken.
Torn and worn away.
I hold her. Kiss her.
Told her tears of the damned.
Fears of a mans conceit now
Over.
