Sickly Sins

Burned beneath his shallow soul:
“I love her and I love her”
A tantalising, trembling touch
Aromas sweet and sickly brand
The inside of his nose
Slick skin slides, slides slick skin
Laboured breaths, but who is breathing?
Lips sore and swollen, bitten bleeding
Muffled moans and stifled cries
In case the wrong sound echoes from
His epitaph of ecstasy
The wrong name burning his insides
A scorching heat, possessive need
Completion far from passion’s reach
Familiar thighs and fingertips
Lips not half as sweet as hers
But twice the fire and skilful spice
Impaling him upon her eyes
Brown but not the brown he knows
The depths of to their centre core
Instead he knows the softness
And the shape, the sweat, the silky skin
The sweetness and the bitterness
The pleasure only she can bring
Darkness swallowing sickly sins
But not the angel silent and still
On the other side of the door