Gospel of truth

She was screaming for you, she was calling your name, begging for you, whispering for you. 

You gave in, 

she 

      was the apple. 

She would tell you that you were her first. 

And of course, you would feel worried, 

because there are expectations

because she was a winter break.

It was important.

But God. 

No. 

She laughed, 

she laughed, a silly old laugh 

And looked at you when you both were at your rawest and told you the truth, 

like it was a Gospel of Truth l

ike it was a legend like 

it was history,

 a known fact:

“No, silly old you, you are the person I like at the moment. The one I feel most attracted and safe with. I feel that we are equal.

(Even though I get a burnt every time you look at me.) 

Only feeling at ease when I have you moaning my name like want and take,

when my fingers touch your body like a sin. 

And my fingers are itching.

Bitch, you are the reason why I don’t smoke anymore and find sleeping boring. 

It's the way you carry dead on your shoulders. 

Yet you kiss me so very slowly like your life depended on letting me know of your love. 

No, you are better than important. 

You are eternal”

And fucked if you kissed her there. 

Because her lips were open and the words she was saying were truthful and honest. 

And they were her soul and it was ripping you in two.

You kissed to silence because you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You weren’t human enough to accept the truth of the two of you:

Of her love for you and your need to be her haunting hands, that that night you kissed her, made her moan, scream, whisper, beg and call for you.

T.A.