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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