January 28, 2022

Garb of the Heart


I see you dress up your depravity

In silken threads that might distract my sight,

This is how you open, and greet the night

Which waits, a pit of lewd activity.

You strip your fingers to the very bone,

That you might touch a shoulder or a cheek.

Amidst a haze of powder, you are weak

And fall to bed; this house is not your own.

 

I curl embroidered hearts for you alone,

I sit in wait, and soberly assess

That I am not as vexed as I am shamed

For myself; it is for your sins that I atone,

Having none myself, I cannot caress

Anyone; I am unsexed and unnamed.

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