Three women at the river’s edge,
bare feet digging into the cold,
playing that wicked game
hunting guilty pleasures,
dragging sin from her dark bed,
laughing loud, trembling wild
in the ruthless lap of lust.
Their hands don’t just touch
they carve borders into flesh and bone,
claiming, mapping,
finding fierce truths in each other’s fire.
Behind them, a desperate cry:
Don’t stop. Don’t ******* stop.
The river doesn’t care
she rages beneath their skin,
this Love they name a curse and blessing both,
the song tearing loose:
Oh my God, oh my God,
oh my ******* God
don’t stop, you savage witch, don’t.
**** all men and their chains.
The water shudders
bearing the heat of fevered bodies,
waves crash like a scream,
wild, sharp, relentless
******-waves breaking, breaking.
At the river’s ragged edge,
they spill their longing like blood
holy, savage, untouchable.
This is their cathedral,
their war-cry,
and no shadow anywhere
dares claim they weren’t here.
Love calls.
Love burns.
Love breaks everything.