spilledwoords
“Poetry burns in our hearts with the passionate heat of a lover’s embrace.”
MATTHEW 7:12
Someone tapped on my pane
he was either a neighbour or guest
but all I saw was a reflection in pain;
the man in the window-glass professed:
“Remember Matthew 7:12, chum!”
Untidy bed, in repose, eyes vain,
breasts spread, legs slayed – another man’s zest.
My conscience resonates, telling me: “Refrain!”
But her Paradise enslaves me. I’m unbless’d
by a weakling for: beauty, skirts and wiggling bum.
Someone tapped on my pane:
tack, tack and in a pious jest:
“Everything, therefore, be it whatever strain,
that you would have men do to you, at least
do you also same to them….”
© Spilledwoords. 2019.
Recent Posts: spilledwoords
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