IOU

His large hands dig into my hip bones,

Strong, stubborn, securing me down

as if I was His prey.

Why do I even feel this fragile in His touch?

He holds me down with a force not even gravity could muster,

A force of attraction some could say but His grip is a little more forceful than that.

His hot tongue brushes against my ear,

“Come on baby”, He growls.

His low voice plucks at every vertebra of my spine until the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end-

I refuse.

He smirks, dimples defined,

It's all a game, remember last time.

Since when does my “no”, require being challenged.

Yet,

The “no”,

changes into “maybe”,

fake giggle- smile

and eventually, I cave.

Finding myself on my knees again,

My bad religion, why do I bring worship to Him; my sin.

I can feel a coldness seeping into my skin,

Although it's not from the marble floor on which I kneel on

but ur hands lacing around my neck,

tightening.

As moans fill the room draining me from the inside out,

At you transcendent translucence I look up and wonder,

"Does He even know my favourite colour?”

"Does He even care it's me doing this?”

"Does He even care, about me?"

We’ve been brought up by romanticisations of love, and this is its fruition,

Don’t say “I love you” to pierce the quiet of our beating hearts.

I try to tell Him the truth but the truth can be tough to swallow,

Because when we lie through our teeth our mouths will still be open and our eyes will still be shut.

Blind to our mutual destruction, yet this is the closest I can get to a loving touch,

The closest I will ever come...

Come.

He. always. comes.

I’m always the one that has to “Come on” but never do.

Our mouths capable of such power, however, He renders mine mute every time.

At the end just to hear Him mutter,

"I owe you".