Mastering The Art Of Sinning

At your mahogany desk;

You sit.

You study.

You wait for me.

Outside your house:

It rains drops of inaudible notes.

I dance between the downpour.

Your own personal striptease at your doorstep.

Attached to the cross is a bleeding bible.

I can use this as my pole.

I finally arrive in your poster-plastered room.

I am drunk and naked.

I stab you because I am a bitch.

These sins have been forgotten.

These sins will not be forgiven.

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