lust has a hold on me.
tendering a grasp
from which i cannot be freed,
holding on to me, resolutely, with
great tenacity indeed.
i seem to shake her for a while
when my wiles are wrapped about One,
but should i lose Her
lust fires desire up again,
as if there were none.
lust has a hold on me
and she refuses to let go;
she piques and prods violently
urging i cease every opportunity
to abscond morality, the scruples
which would otherwise
have me say “no.”
the art of love
l.m