Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Confess

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She reads the words

and is glad that she is alone.

A blush suffuses her face and neck

her nipples are hard and urgent

beneath the silk that covers them.

She bites her lip

her toes curl involuntarily with desire.

She feels a tremble in her thighs

as arousal flows through her.

Who is this person

who writes such things.

Things that bring out of the shadows

all of her dark needs and wants.

She would never reveal

to him

of course

how one word led to two

led to

so much more.

Led to such eloquently carnal imaginings.

Never would she confess…

or would she?

:

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Sunday confessions, deux

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Sunday,

I wake

with reverent thought.

My touch upon my skin

is my morning confessional to you.

.

Sunday,

across your lap

as you teach me new prayers

with your hands.

.

Punishment and penance

I’m on my knees in prayer

rosary between my fingers

your hands

in my hair.

.

I kneel to say my prayers

I whisper your name instead…

.

I make my confessions

one sin at a time.

.

Sundays,

when I find myself confessing

in words

instead of pictures.

.

Sunday,

a day of rituals

the holiest one of all

slowly 

divesting myself

of my clothes

as my inhibitions 

fall to the floor

with a sigh.

.

Making him devout

converting him to my religion

one naked curve

at a time.

.

You are the perfect sin

I ache to confess

but never to repent.

.

Until my next Sunday confession…

:

©SirenSong1208

Artwork by Ibrahem Swaid