Lie To Me

She knew he lied by the way he kissed her

because lying tongues

never lie.

And she felt his hands pull and push in the softest of ways

belying how hard his eyes penetrated

when she had to believe,

until she made it harder, demanding it.

Light blue skin hovered in a dish of heavy syrup,

caramelized lust wrapped in a box

with a bow;

a gift to her senses.

He turned her over and began at her feet

washing them with his mouth

edging his way up until he could part her

enter her.

She held the pillow to her,

imagining her lover

whispering all of the things

he could not,

the illusion of forever

tossed behind glass

the color of the ashes of roses.

He slid into soft wetness

copious copulation

with streams of honey glazing his face,

and he could not speak in his moment of truth

but she could always come with a forked tongue.




© Trinity Wolf