A night indulgence

A night indulgence

Questions of right and
wrong– I plead the night
the uplifting sin that hides
the stars– my ceiling
housing the indulgence
she’s my, my– no
I’m her personal Casanova
at her will slipping in a–
rather not in a bed–
our coffin caught in pseudo comas
questioning– both of us– is this
real asking “what are we doing?”

Sunny skies out but
the moon linger behind
blinds. Eyes
glowing everything but light
in binds that blind– lips shut
and lips pressed sounding
darkness desperate
each other another check for step
towards hell, another
we scream out the lords name,
was it in vain?
I may not have seen it
but we did feel it, but actually
we don’t care– at the moment we are unaware
cause we’re so tired were fighting
to breathe
fighting to think
but we fail at that
we just collapse
accepting that ceiling
as our sky. In the end
it’s all good but
maybe (just maybe)
not exactly right.


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