Bible In The Nightstand
Can you still taste the liquor on my lips from that time we drank from antique teacups from your parents house.
Can you smell the wilted passion from your parents' corridor leading to the bedroom. While ours exploded with feeling of a lurk in your stomach from missing a step on the stairs.
Can you feel the Bible in the nightstand, the tight leather cover that resembles the strain in your muscles with every thrust.
Can you hear the knock at the door as I arch my back, biting off the flesh on my lip; your mother offering breakfast, a jealous glare on her features.
Can you feel the heartbreak from the next room as your mother turns off the lamp; swallowing the burning flame of a sexless marriage.
