Sitting here with my pen and pad waiting on a man that don't belong to me
Longing for his touch like the cooling waters on baptismal Sunday but I know it's a sin loving him this way
Aching for a feeling only he can satisfy
But after as we lay in bliss I know I'm just a flyby on the way home to his wife that he won't miss
My heart bruised and battered his lies coat with Neosporin, a temporary reprieve from the deep seated agony of laying on my back rejoicing in adultery
The pews of the church fill with hypocrites as I spool this rhyme with thought of him entering me from behind
Not joined under the chains of holy matrimony but yet under the slickness of physical and spiritual twining
Here he comes with his family as I watch from the choir how can I possibly focus on these keys when he looks at me with such fire
Hell must be my destination cause I'll never get tired of his sensation
Signed A Fallen Angel🔮
YOU ARE READING
BRoken WOrd
Random✒️I'm a Poet✒️ I've learned that the best poems are based on life events No matter how magnanimous Or Microscopic
