He was a sanctuary, flaunting holiness and beauty with a hint of sin.
He was a sanctuary, where the air was rich with promise and I was his.
Where decency and time were locked outside. How could I have known?
His crooked smile breathed of explicit longings
as the painted glass began to weep.
Purity bludgeoned by lust.
His was the call of madness mixed with heaven;
where hell became fiction and he, my addiction.
His dark eyes held worlds of carnal sex and cocaine laced flesh.
I was hooked; a junkie, looking for a fix.
Every kiss held life and fire and death.
My scent heavy on his lips. His hand print left.
My ravaged cries fueling his darkness. Cum again, he said, watching
as I slipped into bliss. His fingers drenched with my sex.
It was love, wasn’t it?
Anna K Peters