My idle hands become bored
Of their current task and
Drop
Almost gracefully to roam across his lap
In search of something a bit
Firmer
And more tangible to worship
Than our modern day
God…
Because I’m a dirty sort of
Whore in need of saving…
Looking for repentance in the ways that
Daddy taught me best
(All of which involve an eager throat
And a warm, warm tongue…)
Reciprocation is never expected
Anticipated or even accepted…
Whisper…
Moan in the dark
And scream my name…
I’ll find you…
Wayward sinners always come back
To the light and love of the gods they choose
To serve….
So, I’ll find you...
I’ll always find you.
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