Utter.


The evening approaches with a voice. 
So sweet, almost saccharine, how it makes me rejoice. 
It beckons my soul to tread into the dark; 
to rekindle that sacrosanct spark.


Should I linger in the shade of his frame? 
Do I dare play this game? 
Will I become the paint upon this artist’s brush? 
Step into its uniform allure as a product of plush?


Warm breath tickles my ear,
it vibrates across my flesh for only me to hear. 
In the shadows, the words whispered caress my skin
and set my body alight as they speak of sin.



Will my halo remain gold or will it rust? 
Beneath his touch, will I become sated dust? 
Ardour of concupiscence clouds my vision
thus, the intoxication of my soul makes my decision.


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