Creationist

Your first words were whispers In the dew that morn had spit Past the decay of this old skin, Kind to keep my pupils dilated. Reading around my frail words, They can't stand upright alone Against the blistering pale light Of your sanctimonious silence. Yet I've never once asked for it, The bittersweet ghosting of - Slender fingers along my spine. You were my masquerading sin. Instead, my distinction between Right and wrong burns scarlet, Stark full lips, a made-up visage Refusing to turn the other cheek. Nothing has scorched a heart Like the undressed ire in those Onyx pressed irises, you were - You are a devil with pretty eyes.