These pleasures of the flesh, my soul decry,
Yet powerless I am to thwart their throes;
And of us two, which one by strength decides
To embrace honor and make lust our foe?
All wrongs seem right when you are in my arms;
What vows of truth should we not then amend?
Our passion brief—wherein would lie the harm
If come the morrow, we to truth commend?
My hunger for your body wracks my soul;
Your lips inflame me with a madness sweet;
Your warm caresses all my heart cajoles—
All mortal reason vanquished in defeat.
No gods or demons could this fervor quell,
As we transgress the fiery gates of hell.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.