original sin

in a cave of trees, identically to Kanzan,

(thievishly),

robed in a velvety black fur, sits the love

•

with its voice transplanted, it's meowing,

while its kitty eyes crave

to taste the original sin of my verses' lips

•

nonchalantly, as if i didn't feel it, i pass on,

but in reality, passionately,

love rips out entire oxygen from my lungs