A Scandalous Soul
If I could paint my soul
I wonder what colour it'd be.
Would it be the colour of blood
a shade darker, I believe.
For I've sinned with crimes so heinous, my love.
I thought it was love of course,
Floating in primal pleasure,
you lay by my side.
Catching your breath and reposing in defeat.
Beads of sweat shone on your hairy chest,
pleasure flowed through your veins and lips.
Search I did on and on, for love in your eyes,
like a predator searching for its non-existing prey.
Lust and sin was all that I found,
but you'd said it was all love.
I heard the music so feeble and subtle,
and from my window pane I saw her sublime silhouette.
But when she came out I saw her anew,
her sweet lustrous hair danced by the wind.
The Sun with your might had lit it to flames,
of bright orange and fiery red.
Then, I saw her ripening gently,
and it was by the touch of your ardor.
Finally I found your love sweetheart,
you'd kept it safe from me for her.
My lips had trembled and I'd stooped down under,
as it slowly hit my bosom and tore me apart.
Was it broken pride and jealousy,
or a cry from a soul so pale and feeble?
I'd given it all to you my love,
but then you gave me back in lust when you'd thrust.
If at least in droplets had I received your love,
this soul wouldn't have been painted,
by her hot red blood.
Her hot red blood full of your love.