Hot Wretched Coals
Unfurled winds in the bed of desire
Your stars are no longer in my arms
You have gone to the anchors of ideals
Gone past religion
I loved your silk stockings with belts
Your heels with straps like the deep sea
Remember when our bed was moonlight
Remember when theology had passion
Souls are bowls of incense
Change is mortality
We have changed
Passion like a bipolar night
Broken down into a good girl bad girl
Is it wrong for me to want both?
Can you be both?
Can you wet like a sweet whore?
Have you become to pure?
To ideal to saintly
I am wretched
Hot wretched coals
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Added by Poetry Lover
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