poetry log: temptation from a bloodsucker

|| originally written on: 20/9/2024, mature content! ||

and God forgive me, but the things I would do if I was granted initiative over that man are the stuff of nightmares to any devout fellow. our wedding night would be a symphony of desire, a crescendo of lust and bloodletting that would make any angel turn its face from us,

and God I have never been a pious man, my entire nature is against that, but in the shape of his hips I've found my religion, and his hair upon my sheets is a river of gold, wine red eyes clouded with ecstasy and God, God how I wish to get drunk on him.

God, I want to rip Your gospel from his mouth, turn it into my own, a hymn of a single word, my name upon his lips. and God, bear witness and see that Heaven is not in Your throne, but in the space where our hips merge, and see that there is no love in Heaven like the love we make in these sheets.