A heretic grin
interlaced with longing.
Ferocious need danced behind barren eyes.
Thunder clouds and electricity,
lead me to believe in her gospel of sin.
Where it not for her blithe commentary,
fornicating in the sea,
against incidental walls,
I might not have chosen this bestial path.
Mouth taste free.
Skin cracking, lacking soothing lubricant.
Verbs worked their magic,
I performed, as she suggested.
Burning vowels propelled each thrust.
Sinner who was a Saint.
Hedonistic behavior my own.
Pleasure points of deception,
etched into the surface of time.
My quest for consumption continues,
The devil delights.
Flesh burns bright,
Tastes salty with a tang of regret.
Hell is on Earth,
Mistress of ceremonies,
some say that I am wicked.