I remember the touch,
the heat of skin on skin,
a fever that rose with every caress.
We tangled in the sheets,
bodies writhing in a symphony of desire,
a dance of shadows
in the dim light of lust.
The sins of the flesh,
they were a storm
that burned away the calm,
a relentless ache
that found its way through every kiss.
Our hands explored,
mapping the contours of temptation,
where pleasure and guilt
wrestled in the dark.
I felt the heat of your breath,
each exhalation is a promise
that we would devour each other,
losing ourselves
in the primal pleasure of our needs.
Your skin was a canvas
for the strokes of sin,
each touch a mark
left by the gods of indulgence.
In the shadows of our passion,
we danced a dance of desire,
where every whisper was an invocation,
every sigh is a sacrilege.
The flesh, it craved
the forbidden fruit,
the taste of what we knew
we should not want.
We were drunk on the nectar
of our lust,
each moan a prayer
to the gods of fleeting satisfaction.
The heat between us
was an inferno,
scorching the earth beneath us,
leaving nothing but ashes
and the echoes of our sins.
Each touch was a betrayal,
a promise broken
in the heat of our own making.
We reveled in the sensual,
our bodies speaking a language
of sin and redemption,
where every touch
was a question of morality
answered with the breathless cry
of our indulgence.
In the throes of our passion,
we forgot the world outside,
lost in a frenzy
that left us gasping,
entwined in the sin of our desires.
Our bodies were temples
to the gods of the flesh,
sacrificed on the altar
of our insatiable need.
But as the fire cooled
and we lay amidst the remnants,
the sins of the flesh
were a stark reality,
a reminder of the lines
we had crossed,
the promises we had shattered
in the pursuit of our pleasure.
The heat that once consumed us
now lay cold,
a reminder of the cost
of our indulgence.
We were left with the ashes
of our sins,
a landscape marked
by the ghosts of our passion,
and the shadows of what we had done.
In the quiet aftermath,
the sins of the flesh
were a burden
too heavy to bear.
Each touch was a memory
of a heat that had burned too bright,
a flame that had consumed
the sanctity of our souls.
And as we faced the dawn,
our bodies weary,
the sins of the flesh
were a reminder of our fallibility,
a testament to the heat
that had once burned between us,
and the price we paid
for the indulgence
of our desires.
For poetry and more, visit Mecella.