Confessions of a writer

As the clock strikes 2
the forbidden hour takes control.
The heat begins to consume them
body, mind and soul.
Her short black skirt
and red painted lips
lay before him,
ready for what awaits.
The taste of sin
fill their hungry mouths.
Craving more.
Her nails mark his back
claiming him as hers.
Her lover.
He satisfies her every desire
hour after hour
he fills her
claiming her as his.
His lover.
The scent of pleasure fills the room,
long after the sun rises.
As the last bit of sweetness has been tasted,
the confessions of a writer still linger.

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