It was a heroic predicament
When she let drop to the floor, her raiment
She motioned me to close the door left ajar
I knelt for her that I had worshipped from far
Her face in my hands revealed above her lips a subtle mole
Her eyes this night held the cure of my soul
It was the last quarter of a waning moon
Naturally our rebellious passions ended soon
My goodbye was hasty, guilty and terse
I thought to myself, my imperfections have hidden hers
I spent a night with a gun in my mouth
The same whose trigger was pulled by her pout
Amid roguish desires I nurse stabbing moral fears
Haunted by the dangerous skin between her shoulders and her ears

ps-read sentimental education