An autumn evening aura embroiled
in the fingerprints of queasy trust
rests heavy in a hotel room,
screaming infidelities that fractured lives,
through the vision of knotted sheets
steals the solace of seclusion
like footsteps through jaded rooms
with empty-handed clues
as hidden lies behind your auburn hair.
Guilty pleasure in vacant rooms
Her pillow-gripping orgasms crack chandeliers
to the porcelain of the bridges we burned.
We’re stumbling, drunk off another kiss.
The revenge of another
suitor stains our lips.
Love did its thing, and we fell together.
(© 2022 AC)
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