The priests and paupers all say to follow you but I am wise to your ways. In your simplest beauty you are sustenance but nothing more. Damned in your own way.  Second prize I’ll call you but good nonetheless.

I love to love you. More tempting than woman, than God even, but cruelly inevitable. 

Your orgasmic caress tranquilizes but I want to feel. So, I’ll drop this vessel, break you in your essence and become shattered porcelain. I can’t hold anymore. So I’ll reap.