The Marriage Bed

 

Don’t blame the sinner.

The pleas all catch in

her throat like

words, ashes

on the tips of their tongues,

all disappeared in

cupped mouths now,

in curious noise,

in sheets like

tangled ribbon.

 

She is

broken glass,

a vorticose tunnel

of sweet rhythms

and soft hands,

a queen of pawns.

Sinning is easy when

there is no focus

in her eyes.

 

Don’t hold the sinner when she

wears that black veil

like some golden crown,

like sanctity above

warm shoulders,

worn lips,

’cause while sweat still crawls down

spines

she is turning down the lights

in the marriage bed.

********

This is my response to this week’s Speakeasy over at Yeah Write. The prompt requires writers to include “Don’t blame the sinner” as the first line of a fiction or poetry piece of 750 words or less; writers must also make some sort of reference to the above painting. Hope you enjoyed my contribution!