I swear you were carved from marble and sent from the gods themselves.
A living, breathing sculpture meant to destroy.
Fingers touching, tracing mere human flesh drawing ragged breath.
Lips murmuring words sweet and vivid — destined to crumble inhibitions.
Naked thoughts. Nowhere to go but out.
And when we finally break and surrender to one another, heaven could come and lay claim to the saints and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference to either of us.