Like a deer in night headlights
Caught between the ragged sheets
The time to wane all delights
Trembling tongues, fierce heartbeats
No words to apt convey
This dark unforgivable sin
Slowly, standing, I survey
The room that has been
Our holy enclave, our sanctuary
An act, cooked by mere minutes
Is writing my heart’s obituary
Guilt gnaws, my desires, my needs,
Packed in a bag filled with regrets
I cooked this real situation
In a fleeting flight of lust
Abandoning pure salvation
Unintended, but I am burst
Now I do offer my heart
Offering to the highest bidder
It is not the greatest art
A little mending, making it better
(c)All rights reserved2017


About williwash

A writer, a human rights activist, an adventurer and a poet.
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