sin in search of godliness
Winter nights.
Soft lights.
The fog floating around reminiscing of the ghosts of your past.
Two souls, bared in silence.
Whispers of doubt and assurances of love,
Touching your skin with cold hands feels like sin.
But the pools of brown look like altars.
Where I worship you and continue to sin for my mortal body.
Copyright © Sukanya Ghosh | Year Posted 2025
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