What have I done? (yes, to you, dear)

While he lies naked next to me,

after a night of letting loose all the things

we should have kept inside,

while his parted lips seem to breathe

in the scent of a 100 dreams

and my hands still linger in his gorgeous, dark hair,

I wonder for the 1000th time

"What have I done to you?"

And in the rippling air surrounding us,

blessed by the glorious smell of embracing the wrong

and forgetting about the world,

I can hear her soul crying in pain,

"What have you done to me?"