A candlelit affair

A poem about adultery

 

I was always more of a moth than a butterfly much

preferring the moon rise to a sun set and he loved me

like an old flame as I fluttered silhouettes before

his covetous eyes.

It was the fever of the sin I loved. Returning for each

singing touch, each scorching kiss which only burnt

wings off the virtue in my heart.

Some pairings are just meant to be as others are not

meant to start. A thought wholly realized once I woke

flightless on a motel bed, alone, and his candle for me

burnt no more.

Author's Note

I downloaded this beautiful image from google.