tradition's ligature marks

if sinning feels like holding your hand,

or showing the world

how fragile the way your deliquent smile makes me want to carve our future under my skin,

then let me be one of them.

if sinning looks like the scenery 

where you hugged me tight,

and slowly brushing bruising kisses on my neck,

then let me drown with them.

if sinning sounds like the vows i swore to make once what we have will be enough,

and giggles around the kitchen where the spoons and cups saw our love acted on,

then let me burn alone with them.

17th sept ‘24