A woman is only as good as the man she beds.
The one she shares her sheet with tells so much about her.
What she likes; What she loathes; How she thinks.
It goes beyond the thrills of skipped heartbeats. The initial attraction;
The fatal feel;
The dreaded seal.
The stench to come, so deep it follows through, the days after.
Things are never the same again after that hour of guilt.
She takes a part of him same way he takes of hers.
But she's mostly ill because emotions take the better part of her.
Emotions begin to cloud judgements;
And in time, all that's left is an empty vessel dwelling in sentiments and regrets.
It's a dangerous place to be.
So, use your head.