The next morning feels like an alternate timeline.

She cannot remember feeling like the kind of girl who likes hot wax on her nipples.

Pressure marks and scars do not make sense now they are letters in a language some other self speaks.

A self red silk and glorious. Dim lights and flame and dark sky through glass.

A cloud is vaguely astonished that it has rained.

And the morning after glory

In the drywall light of day

Running water over plastic

Over glass

Over vegetable matter

This is something like a baptism

After all these years

Still trying to wash the forbidden

from the fruit

Is SIN in you?

.........Do you want it to be ;)