thewayiwrite

The Devil

You love him, don’t you?

 

Him and his pale fingers

Tangled in your hair

Running down your spine

 

Him and His lips

Against your neck

Your jaw

Your chin

 

And in these empty halls

With him

Religion shifts and turns and blurs

His mouth is your confessional

And you sin,

You sin

You sin

 

And the devil, why, he never seemed so holy.