I choose to be incorrect in this moment.
To lay in bed with my sins.
To unveil the red bottle of champagne that has been fermenting on the counter hidden in the locked away room.
I choose to fall in love with your silky brown buttered eyes.
Your cinnabar coated lips.
Your cream flavored skin.
To sing along to the crescendo of your thighs.
To ride the waves of disaster to the burning of my home.
Reconstruction is not present in my mind.
I’ll keep igniting as long as these feelings don’t subside.