I wonder about my motivation

I can taste the lust in your kisses

It forces your tongue just a little closer to mine than it ought to.

I fear your touch but I shiver and press toward it.

Am I a slut?

I think this is what adultery must feel like.

Like the slow, low burning in my stomach is the only feeling worth having.

Like your hands are my only tether to the past,

the future is all in your eyes.

The now is gone in a heartbeat.

Hard, painful thuding in my chest marks the momentary thoughts that question my beliefs.

The sex in your voice makes me wonder who I am.

The glazing of your eyes clouds my conscience.

I know you're a slut.

You've told me so.

You know your way around and my fingers tremble when you brush them so gently with yours.


Maybe we've never been intimate, but the way you mumble in my ear is a sin.

I close my eyes and feel your heat, I leave my misgivings in my pockets.

Your beard scratches my cheeks like I remember my Father's did.

My father loves me too.

Big shoes, quite, sleepy eyes, house coat.

Yellow skin and "My football baby"

What would he think of me?

Am I a slut?


I push memories, like the TV glow and radiator clanking in my dreams out into the snow

My baby is holding me and his lips are like neorotics on my neck.

I let him cling and fondle like he's married to me

But he's not.

I let him say things that creep into my bed at night,

things that grow in my breast and make me shake.

You're warm, like a dream.

Is that dream mine to have?

Is lust the excess of love, or have we forgotten what love really means?

I let you inch closer to my secrets.

Am I a slut?

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