This will begin my seven part poem series on sin. I leave it to my readers to guess, although it should not be too hard?
Silken sheets on sweated skin
Soft sighs torn from slicked lips.
Anticipation building and threatening
To take over.
Through the windowpane she sees
Two as one.
Needing to write herself in the story,
Not yet done.
Desire burns bright in the pit of her belly
As they wait for the night to unfold.
Knowing full well the trespass she commits
And lacking all power to control.
Isn’t that the game?
The giving up, the stealing back,
Both parties playing the winner
And the loser.
A wild abandon of freewill.
Praying to stay in those arms only to die
A little each time.