The preconceived idea of man and woman still lingers as I lace my fingers between hers. The line of right and wrong blurs as the butterflies crawl up my throat. The sin slips through the cracks between us, radiating heat in every breath we take. As our bodies fit perfectly together like a puzzle begging to be solved, she whispers, "I love you." Those words cloud my sense of sanity and I fall to pieces in her arms. There was no question in my mind. She was not the sin burning my soul to ashes. Love was not the sin. Hatred was the sin.
YOU ARE READING
Imprisoned Thoughts
PoetryThe thoughts that will never leave my lips. And with little hope, will never leave yours.
