How to suffocate the sin before it festers into boils beneath my feet;

the ground comes to meet in penance, through every stride I take.

 

a remembering, a wish that died on the lips on its way out. 

a rosary with one bead missing. replaced by the likes of my iron finger 

wrapped around it like a bad-tempered snake, ready for its kill.

my skirts, they hang low around my knees, as if in hiding.

 as if in taunting, as if in welcome to your own solemn hands that 

match my own.

a rabid dog with its mouth wide open. 

one too many teeth sharp with malice. 

hunger for something other than flesh. other than

defeat.

I hum in excitement.

 I swallow in submission.

 malignant eyes sparkling against the sheet of darkness.

ready to feast, to devour every last inch of the light.

to dance together with the immorality that drenches your fingers,

as sweet as spoilt honey on my tongue, 

offering dreams of solace and things that cannot be named;

only felt beneath the spell of the moonlight.

my skirts have been lifted higher, by sombre limbs that seek to consume. 

to eradicate the release of my thighs, like a threat

caught in between its vocal cords like splintered bones.

oh, sweet devil of things. 

scheming around the silence of my forced surrender.

what will I have left to hold, come the morning light knocking against my door?

a bruised hip, in evidence?

the slight tremor of my womb in exile?

the wet blood staining my gums like a secret?

my skirts lay in ruins at my feet; only remnants of the unspoken desire for the return of death.

the sleeping sun winks at me over the horizon of wrongdoing. 

I am searching for your hand to hold only to grab wishful air.

the barking dog has cowered into the corner of its den,

light comes to wash away the violation of the night.

I sink to tender knees on soft ground. no more skirts to hide the shame of want.

 a rosary discarded into soil and sin alike.

no veil to hide the truth. just a girl, thirsty for her torment to begin anew.

tomorrow only brings such blessings