Bathsheba (Warning: mildly strong language)

[FlawsLikeRain]

Cuanto cuestas?" he asked
fidgeting with his wedding ring

"Two thousand," she hissed
snatching delicate wrists
the cost of her fidelity
his own little cup of salvation.

He drank her up
mi copa de cafe
not mine, not mine
The body of Christ, the cup of salvation
not mine
You will cause her to commit adultery
Stainless steel on delicate wrists
not mine
Seconds tick on delicate wrists
I still can't eat those sweet, thick breads
not mine

Two thousand bristly hairs
stand up on her back
she smells of pus and liquor
Dial soap and vinegar
coffee pots left on in hotel rooms
where married men
bend her over
and pour her into teacups

You
summer ripe on empty porchsteps
the cost of your fidelity
Not mine, not mine

Delicate wrists on gasping neck,
pushing, pushing.
Mi copa de cafe, two thousand.

Prickling like the way
mango melts in your mouth
when you're thinking of her

Prickling like the taste of
salty breeze on bristly hairs.

Prickling like a wedding ring
on delicate wrists
when his prick is inside you.

The body of Christ,
the cup of salvation.
Not mine, not mine.

[WVaGAL]

Cool did you write this? Or should I say are you the author?