Original Sin

Original Sin

The cool linen sheets caressed her cheeks

She smelt him and the aphrodisiac

The red wine he’d drank her with

The acridity of his masculinity.

She stretched her hand for him, he’s gone.

The memories of it failed

Except for the all-too familiar voice

The voice of her little black heart;

It was echoing and reverberating inside,

“The devil is beautiful…”

She felt a soaring sense of victory, riotous appetite

For the sweet fruit of Eden.

Her ever clean white sheets were stained

The stain of shame

The stain of sin

The stain of the beautiful devil;

It’s the trace of her maturity

Trace of sinfulness

Trace of her broken virginity.


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