These Sunday confessions
roll off my tongue
like an Act of Contrition…
.
On my knees,
my tender
sensual
confessional
for your ears
only.
.
Sundays,
always the potential
for sin.
.
His name upon my skin
burning through my clothes
my Sunday secret.
.
Sunday service will be
kneeling
and thoughts
I choose not to repent.
.
He says prayers,
but only into the softness
of my skin.
.
Lost in your sweet sermon,
no prayers would be more earnest
as I await the burn
of your brimstone,
of your fire.
.
Sundays
dedicated to worship,
but only in the most sinful ways.
.
Until my next Sunday confession…
:
©SirenSong1208
Artwork by Ekaterina Belinskaya
Siren Whispers 