Little Slice of Hell
You are never as exhibitively candid
As in the throes of passion.
There your soul bared
And your urgency
And desperation,
complacency
Or command
Is primal and loud...
It is where
you can be proud
To be a slut.
It's beautiful
And terrifying
To glimpse at the carnal soul.
Like a fever dream
Where you most intimately can know
Even the most distant stranger
More certainly than any certainty.
It is the purest voyeurism.
It is connection distilled.
It is the antithesis to apathy.
And for me
it is hell.