You are not my Divine Being or my Demonic Master,
though last night’s wanted ravish,
could’ve been “sent from Heaven”.
Nothing holds my worship over you,
even after few moments, shame only delusional.
You are the aftermath of
seven glasses filled with champagne,
spinning head and scared logic.
You are just a sleeping mistake
on my bed, covered with purple satin.
© 2010 Broken Sparkles