Apostate sister-wife, did you abdicate your stringent rituals to assuage the throb between your legs? Was it worth it? Did you shudder in pleasure when you reached completion or was it fear that made your eyes roll back into your skull?
Did your puritan conscience fall wayward when you tasted decadence and vomited bacchanalia? Did you remember your humanity or forsake it among the unheard prayers of zealots?
You drank liquid pride and postured it behind austerity. Your lipstick was your grandmother’s bitter tears while your perfume was your son’s secret shame.