Sonnet 544

So deemed a tawdry object there of lust
As to caress her form with hungry eyes,
The thought, the tongue, deft digits soon to trust
By all the wonts that pleasure may devise.
Reluctant dress hooks now the lovers bane
Rude wrenched asunder falling to the floor,
Pert pouting lips that drive the mind insane,
Lace bodice rived that loveliness outpour;
A breathless rush full crazed by passion pure,
All civil reason savaged by desire,
Bare beast of ages raging to procure
His fill of flesh born of that carnal mire.
The brute now sated, sapience reborn—
Bloodguilt rude stained upon that frock now torn.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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