The simplest thing as your touch
Had me succumbed to what you could call
submission.
As you trailed your fingers along my skin
I could feel my heart pounding in places it shouldn't.
As you reached my inner thighs I was already yours,
It felt so right doing something that was morally wrong.
If loving you was a sin,
Then tell my devil of a friend I'm on my way home.
YOU ARE READING
Open Book
ПоэзияWhen depression hits, When the call of death is made, When the bad days seem to become worse, Only then can the good days be appreciated all that much more.
