Salvation Is Not Your Agenda

It kills me when you look up and our eyes meet. The very nature of that look, pure innocence in your gaze…unadulterated sin in your actions.

Maybe it’s the hair that has draped over you eye, giving you a sweet, angelic cover, but we both know that my salvation is not your agenda .

Perhaps it’s the submissive nature of you knelt before me. A sainted pose of contrition and offering, but I feel more like your dirty sacrament.

Yet, when you look up, I am completely disarmed, lulled into your web of sweet vice and savory immorality.

When you take me whole, past your cherried lips….I am nothing more than willing prey.

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