SOL: Gamine

She is eaten up by clever words
Rotting with desire, she abhors the way
It makes her feel; tormented by illicit thoughts
Wondering if she should have acted sooner.
Eyelids shut in reproach, searching for oblivion
As I adorn myself in honey, chains, roses, thorns.
She watches with barely repressed ferocity making nimble fingers
Shudder.
She watched me peel it all off, she ached with
The thought of how soft
It could be;
The all-consuming desire to sway the
Pendulum of pleasure a little further her way.

3AM Thoughts // AKA “The Devil Is A Woman.”

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