Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Sunday confessions, toi

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I was the sweetest,

the most innocent bad girl

he ever created.

Especially on Sunday.

.

Sinful Sunday.

Soft white skin

and pure white ribbon.

A sensuous tether

to wicked thoughts

and desires

pulled tight by him.

Making me wet and wild.

.

A Sunday prayer.

A single wish

whispered from my lips

that was

purity and sin

interwoven.

.

I am

A body trembling with sinful wants

and a soul aching with innocent need.

.

I sit upon the church pew

modest in dress and demeanour

distracted

by the secrets and sins

that dance within every line

of the poetry I am composing

in my head.

.

You are deeper than skin

greater than sin

absolution is mine

as you touch all the parts of me

that ache for you.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Sunday confessions, cat

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Each bead

thumbed in reverence

not with prayer

but with each burning desire

that begins

with your name.

.

Sunday

kneeling

wafer upon my tongue

a prayer in my head

as I imagine your taste.

.

These days

he becomes the starting

and ending words

of my Sunday confessions.

.

No sooner have I confessed

and repented

than he has me on my knees.

Sinning.

Again.

Each defilement

glorious

violent

and dark. 

.

Confess to me.

Satisfy your sins

along every silken inch of skin.

My curves

your path

of destruction

of salvation.

Amen.

:

*Another instalment in my Sunday confessions.

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken from Pinterest

 

 

 


10 Comments

Sunday confessions, toi

fullsizerender3

I was the sweetest,

the most innocent bad girl

he ever created.

Especially on Sunday.

.

Sinful Sunday.

Soft white skin

and pure white ribbon.

A sensuous tether

to wicked thoughts

and desires

pulled tight by him.

Making me wet and wild.

.

A Sunday prayer.

A single wish

whispered from my lips

that was

purity and sin

interwoven.

.

I am

A body trembling with sinful wants

and a soul aching with innocent need.

.

I sit upon the church pew

modest in dress and demeanour

distracted

by the secrets and sins

that dance within every line

of the poetry I am composing

in my head.

.

You are deeper than skin

greater than sin

absolution is mine

as you touch all the parts of me

that ache for you.

:

©SirenSong1208

 

Photograph taken from Pinterest

 

 


4 Comments

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


10 Comments

Sunday confessions

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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