She is the apple of his eye.
Her curls cascading down her back,
Lips painted crimson, her
tongue flicking over them,
eyes are glistening like a serpent.
‘You’re late,’ she offers.
An hour later, the smell
of sex permeates the room.
A dark must lingers
and fills the air, the
darkness of it all
exacerbating his guilt.
He shouldn’t use these scarlet women,
his pocket cannot afford it,
but he cannot give up this thrill.
The fun of different female forms,
Pussies that are pummelled
where previously babies had been born.
For him, that is the thrill,
to feel he is punishing
something that had once
held something sacred.
He hates himself afterwards
for his weird perversion,
but he could never give up
this weird, yet sweet addiction.
