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My skin flushed and rouge,
chest rising and falling
in sync with yours.
Oh how you whisper in my ear,
how I wish I could be as pleased as you.
Guiltily my body relishes in the afterglow
knowing inside the depth of our act,
the sin of a desired scarlet.

You hold me, arms holding me like
The branches of a tree,
strong and balenced.
Your hands warm on my heart hurt me so.
Don't you see the shroud of gloom covering my features
The Subconscious of a bride.

Shivering you pull me close.
How I loved to map your body,
questioning what made your body tingle.
To watch you shiver like golden leaves.
Yet I know now the conciquence of our mirth.
Can't you see the deviance our love held,
the hand of all morals held in hand
Broken at the wave hitting shore
as we sang to the goddess Artimes.

Our bodies mold in a scandelous embrace
intwinded like twins, a woven braid.
A mothers death above from our act,
bravery the soul of promise.
Darkness leaving as a dawn hits your face,
as we lie in your loft.
Our bodies emitting the perfume of ****** plea
With my heart beating guitily.
Skye Mar 2018
There's poetry in scars.
Do not romanticise them, they do not deserve such compliments, but
There's a story there.

Often I stare at my own and I remember
What it was that drove me to put them there
What forced me to guitily indulge in my habit.

Scars fade but they never disappear.
They're a melancholy reminder of my narrative.
They are the promise of a sequel.

— The End —