Of Hymns and Hormones It's Sunday morning, humid.Of Hymns and Hormones by !velocity07
My lacy dress itches and sweat glues my hair
to the back of my neck.
I mumble our somber hymns
but my thoughts follow my eyes
as they seek you out like a temptation
three pews ahead.
Your suit dips into the small of your back,
the edge hugging your hips.
Your hair is messy,
the color of milk chocolate—
too long according to some
but becoming of you.
My belly tingles and as
the adults towering over us
sing about redemption and
God being a potter, my idle fingers
find my thighs, pressing the soft flesh
beneath my dress.
They slide higher, into the crevice
they're not supposed to explore
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Euphoric 
oh well. that just means I get to have fun other ways am I right people. 
Sta.sh
