I felt his fingers burn my flesh...

I felt his fingers burn my flesh...

...and I remembered the first time-
The dainty reserve of a bride, I adorned
Stepping into a new role, a new hue
Cast all over me
.
.
.
Love.

The age lines that streak my forehead
Have embossed your name, don't you see?
The once soft, now calloused hands,
Have planted and watered you, to grow.
These lips have offered your parched soul- life,
And this heart has skipped beats, through years
For your heart to thud- the lubb and dubb,
Chiming in me, the peals
.
.
.
Love.



I felt his fingers burn my flesh...

...and I looked up, to meet your gaze
In the drunken darkness of the night.
Your eyes gleamed
.
.
.
Lust.

As you ripped away the many-time-darned layers
Of our aged love- lynching at the lifeless body
That lay limp, beneath your weight,
I felt no more. Nothing of you could re-awaken me.
And once again, as you fell limp over me,
I heard the lubb and the dubb, no longer recognizable.
The new tune urged a drop of tear to trail down.
And it flushed out of me, your shade
.
.
.
Lust.




I felt his fingers burn my flesh...

...once again.