clenching at the frame
of an unthinkable pastime,
that specter of distinct deception
claws its way into my convictions.
such rationalizations that serpent contrives,
knowing my weakest attributes;
for what a demon my lust has shifted into.
oh, the beauty that lies
in the pure thought of intimacy,
is jaded into remnants, being contorted
into something of no recognition.
and what marvel, and what pleasure
is presented in this pornographic image
of love?
there is no love in this obsession;
there is romance in the laying of eyes
upon cheapened nakedness -
cancel this, oh Lord.
cancel this in haste, oh Lord,
for my plagued conscience can no longer
withstand the inveigling temptations
of this dark essenced woman,
whom i see fit to call "Lust".
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