Her eyes weren't yours
As they stared up at me;
It wasn't you on the pair of knees, it was her,
Begging the way I'd fantasized you would be for me.
She trailed her nails over my skin,
But I ached for them to be yours instead;
Her voice was a purr of seduction,
But I yearned for it to be your whispers by my neck.
Her lips left trails of steaming anticipation,
But, once more I found myself lost in the wrong fantasy,
For her kisses didn't leave the burns of passion
That only yours would be able to create.
Her name dripped off my lips,
But my mind whispered yours;
Regret because of a fantasy laced every kiss,
Tainting pleasure with a phantom of despair.
How confusing and tiring it is
To bleed a need of one fruit of the forbidden.
