Quiet.
Heart be still, as I deny myself the pleasure of his memories.
Smother the sound of the moans that made me once free.
Let them sink back.
Let them rest.

Silence.
Wipe from those mirrors the images of our sinful embraces.
Forget the colors that he taught you to recognize.
Close them in a box with a key,
Leave them behind.

Loud.
Too loud, that crushing moment where he made me his.
A symphony that had no reason. It had no soul.
But we played it till the sun caught us.
We had the darkest night, but what were we in the morning?

Words.
My words, painted over my alabaster skin.
Carved with incredible precision by our lust.
In the shadows of our mouths, where nobody could see them.
Where they were only ours.

Empty.
The morning always comes, bringing her light.
It brings the absence of your tongue, of your taste.
The echo of what once was exciting, now seeming so far.
So long.

Silence. Silent.
Be still. Be good. Be free.