Page 50 - NS 2024
P. 50
Choice
Her body, her choice.
Curves meant for no men to mention, tucked away behind a tight skirt.
Or dress?
Not that what she wore bore any difference, clothes torn off with animal surety.
Purely evil.
Her body, her choice.
Sweat caked on naked skin laid sinfully bare,
spare lust busted out upon slick cheeks and over meek words.
Swords sheathed in heathenous wreath wreaks weeks of pain,
and vain showers cannot rinse this back clean again.
Her body, her choice.
Splitting spread credibility from Vegas to Vermont,
these fanned flames of agony follow me coast to coast—
boasting scars that mar still-stretching streaks of dermal damnation,
may my atonement mark a similarly foul voice here.
My body, her choice.
Spare me the crocodile tears.
