• Fingers craved,
    crawled, crept
    beneath a sheet
    of security
    and deviously dined
    on the virtue striving.
    Those thrill-seeking demons—
    urging, loving and yearning
    the touch of new skin,
    firm and taut,
    under a film
    of innocence,
    but little do they know,
    her fingers aren't as quick
    to crave
    to crawl
    to creep
    to keep a secret like his.
    Sometimes,
    Love is a glass of red wine,
    and her fingers might
    tip that glass over, spill the temptation
    and stain the pretty white carpet she kept clean.
    His thrill fingers won't itch
    with a ounce of guilt,
    and neither will he
    because he's not red-handed,
    he didn't spill the wine,
    he tasted it while his thrill fingers
    held her close.