7

Erotica
was
your

surname.

Born
on the feast
of Dionysus,
the smoothness
of your skin
was like wine
that left
every man
longing for more
of your


taste.


Addicting.
Tempting.
Soothing.


Your lips
quenched
thirsts
better than
summer rain.



A vixen.
A seductress.



A temptation.
A sin.


You were
the laity's lust.

You were
the lover's gluttony.

You were
the harlot's envy.

You were
the virgin's pride.

You were
the moralist's wrath.

You were
the suitor's sloth.

You were
the cheater's greed.


But though
your fingers
unleashed
the sinner
within one's self,
your face
reflected
the innocence of
a saint.

And deep down
your soul,
your climaxes
were regrets.
Moans
were tears.
Bite marks
were razorblades.

You
wished
for the end
of this insatiable
obsession
for the flesh.


Pandora,

the hand
that launched
all evil
and the hand
that hoped
for hope.


Pandora,


your first name.