She is the apple of his eye.

Her curls cascading down her back,

Lips painted crimson, her

tongue flicking over them,

eyes are glistening like a serpent.

‘You’re late,’ she offers.

An hour later, the smell

of sex permeates the room.

A dark must lingers

and fills the air, the

darkness of it all

exacerbating his guilt.

He shouldn’t use these scarlet women,

his pocket cannot afford it,

but he cannot give up this thrill.

The fun of different female forms,

Pussies that are pummelled

where previously babies had been born.

For him, that is the thrill,

to feel he is punishing

something that had once

held something sacred.

He hates himself afterwards

for his weird perversion,

but he could never give up

this weird, yet sweet addiction.