South of Conscience

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The sheets were stretched
tight beneath me.
One corner snapped,
revealing bare bed.
I stirred, and she
nuzzled against me,
curly coils mopping my chest.
I was slumber-spell-fallen–
she would get me this time.
Geyser pressure was building,
hips started to grind.
She kissed me with violence,
and bit down on my lip.
Her sharp tongue slid inside me.
I let my conscience slip.
But I don't want to play
this game no more.
And I don't swear
to my God anymore.
Because I see now
I can only fall to the floor
in my defeat.
She climbed up
and straddled the Southlands.
Their wealth grew abundant.
She smiled.
She pulled off
her warm, northern blanket,
and let her mountain tops shine.
But I stopped her fast
when she seized the mainland,
hoping she would again understand,
and from that quiet room,
as she shimmered in moonlight,
I ran.
I don't think I can play
this game no more.
And I don't swear
to my God anymore.
Because I see now
I'll only fall to the floor
in my defeat.