We lie lowly on cushions soft,
Sweaty hands clasped tight.
Love shared has us lifted and aloft,
Music plays in backgrounds of the night.
Heavy breaths with deep inhales,
Heartbeats felt through compelled chests.
Irreverence for the songs of morning’s nightingales,
Sweetness was never tasted before this.
Carousing comfortable tongues speak into the ever indelving darkness,
We intermingle and share of lives past.
Speaking a language only understood in careful velvet caresses,
A love cherished, shared, and meant to last.
But, alas, love was never something intended for me,
I am only worth a season of compassion.
Life has its way of escaping me when the preceding feelings heed,
My heart is covered and only creates further lacerations in place of fassion.
Lust is the disease given freely,
A cruel world where women think less of commitment, and flee.
Something only men could have conceived.
A perversion of love now immunodeficient, bewildered bewitchment, I plea.
Oh, how I long for the unconditional love of another,
Godsend and patiently waiting.
She shall be loved like no other lover,
Christ centered and increasingly elating.
