I have yet to lose my soul to the lies of a temptress.
Even as she kisses up my arms,
And leaves her hot sticky breath upon the crook of my neck.
I don't get lost in her ragged sobs and the moans of her self-righteous.
Ignoring her insincere mask of innocence.
She attempts to allure me with her sweet perfume of dead roses.
You attempt to beguile me with whorish intentions.
I still have yet to lose my soul to the lies of a temptress.
YOU ARE READING
Heresy of the Unprepossesing
PoetryI write stuff, and this is a good place go store it!
