Her guilt was delicious.
It shimmered off her skin
like steam over candlelight —
fragile, fragrant, foolish.
She called it trespassing.
I called it choreography.
She doesn't know yet
that I never move second.
Her guilt was delicious.
It shimmered off her skin
like steam over candlelight —
fragile, fragrant, foolish.
She called it trespassing.
I called it choreography.
She doesn't know yet
that I never move second.