Compare me to a black and ugly burn,
That kills the sun upon your pretty face.
Without me, dying slowly, you’re alone
And yearning to awake in my embrace.
Why should I take you seriously now?
When you are so much fun for me to play with.
I know there’s nothing that you won’t allow me
To do with you and leave your body craving
For more of this sweet, painful, endless torture.
I make you scream for more, the more I give.
I never dared to find your spotless church
So full of devil’s scent for me to breathe.
I make you come, that does not make me Jesus,
Cause Heaven and Hell are far too close to see us.
02.05.2010 & 13.05.2010
Your sonnet
© Copyright: Тама Ильгари, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110052306437
Свидетельство о публикации №110052306437
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