Sin by Rose Moczygemba
The bitter tang of guilt at the back of your throat
Choking you
Filling your lungs with cloying poison
You are the stringed wooden puppet
A red dress clinging to sharp curves
Perfume hanging in the air
Flowery, a vanilla sunrise
The lips that kiss you gently in the moments between sleep and wakefulness
Behind the mask of the innocent little girl
The devil you know
Eyes sparking red too quickly to be certain
Love and lust and anger, wrapped up in one being
How are we to recognize sin?