Velvet Sin

Majestically, she walked in,
like the answer to a prayer
I didn’t know I whispered.

Velvet on skin,
smile carved from temptation itself,
hips with an agenda,
and there was I,
a willing fool 
on the front row seat
of her slow, sweet sabotage.

She didn’t speak.
She didn’t have to.
The room paused for her.
And a minute too long
I forgot my name.

It wasn’t about the way she looked
(though mercy, she did look like soft jazz and Sunday mornings),
it was the way her energy leaned in 
unbothered, unchained, alive.

Her perfume?
Witchcraft bottled.
Notes of midnight,
hints of danger,
and the kind of sweetness
that ruins men gladly.

She danced like she didn’t care
who was watching
and I watched like a man
who had forgotten
every good reason not to.

We didn’t talk about forever.
Didn’t need to.
Some moments don’t need time 
they just need presence.

And when the music faded
She leaned in 
whispered something sinful
with a smile that said:
“Don’t fall in love,
just fall for the night.”

But I’m not a saint.
Never claimed to be.
And she…
She wasn’t asking for salvation.

She was offering sin in silk
and I said yes
with every part of me
that used to say no.

And in that moment,
with her eyes on mine and her spirit unguarded,
it didn’t feel like falling.

It felt like floating.

K.