Waking up beside a past, who has become another’s future.
From a night of passion, whose harvest is repeated torture.
How do you explain to prying eyes and questioning lips…
The questions that bug you and refuse to let “things” lie?
How do you get past the guilt,
when with future you meet?
How do you erase the filth,
from your night of tingling feet?
Before you cuddle and sweetly snuggle…
Enwrapped beneath sheets of love’s bundle
Before you throw caution to the wind,
using the dark as cover to sin,
Think, “will I be proud of of my deeds after?
“Will I hold my head up high in laughter?”
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The Morning After
The Morning After is not talking about the pill, though it is a bitter realization which comes from guilt. Before, the plots and plans become drama, STOP!
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