Hovering

In the twilight of the morning your voice calls out. Distant and low. Through the trick senses of a subconscious mind. It's gentle and low. Breathy against the darkness of the room. Heavy with lust and need. Uncontrollable need whispered gently in the unseen breeze.

The curtain flutters. A silent motion. Broken apart by eyes heavy with guilt and unrest. They close to find the beauty of your sinful smile stamped upon darkened lids. An apparition lost inside the cells of a tormented soul.

You are trapped there. Incarcerated by sin and lust and disappointment. Held deep within by the fury of withheld passion and sin.

Forever dwelling, moist and tempting, hovering just above the thighs.