Church
The soft sound of the door,
tells me church is about to begin.
In solitude, I watch her silhouette,
as she takes off her clothes.
In the cover of dark our bodys touch,
A religion is formed from blood, sweat, and pleasure.
Gently she gets up and.....
I watch her dress in silence.
Without a word she softly kisses me goodbye.
Alone I lay wrapped in soiled sheets,
On my bed which is our altar.
In my room, our cathedral,
I wait for her return.
When church will start again.
Written by Nox
Email: nox@mypad.com
