Monday, August 16, 2010

The Morning After




I was angry,
Bitter
After it was all done

The warmth of that night
In your arms
A night of passion and fire
Paled in the cold angry morning light
filled with a cold taste of ashes

I felt let-down,
  Angry,
Full regret and self-loathing
In my drunken stupor.

Cosseted away at that lodge
I had given myself to you,

An offering an the altar of lust
As if you were a sex god.
© P. Chidavaenzi, 2010

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