Sonnet 212

These pleasures of the flesh, my soul decry,
Yet powerless am I to thwart their throes;
And of us two, which one shall here decide
To honor promise and make lust our foe?
All wrongs seem right when you are in my arms;
What truthful vows can we not thus amend?
Proud passion brief, wherein does lie the harm
If on the morrow we to truth commend?
My hunger for your body grates my soul;
Your lips inflame me with a madness sweet;
Your warm caresses all my heart cajole,
All mortal reason vanquished here complete.
No gods or demons could this fervor quell;
As we assail the very gates of hell.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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