An etude in misplaced desire


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To His Mistress the World Going to Bed

I have no license to touch
Your soul, if a soul had qualities to touch
No permission to enter your sanctuary
No heaven’s zone of glittery
I have no intimacy of the variety
That which my state could renew

No pass into the beauteous state
Of harmonious chime of feeling
I have no novelty in this condition
Of incessant repetition
Only hopes and sensations private
Like an imprisoned youth in an older body

It’s hollow here, beneath this flesh
This kingdom called my life, the sameness from
I have no insight into the women
Whom I admire, I used to have female friends
For they go on, like a lifetime of having children
Becoming full with roles

But for the men, they are wild in another way
Hair in their destiny, alone in their temple
Of peculiar tastes and defied responsibility
I have no license to touch these lives
Who are so full with duty, so unlike my own
We cannot truly coexist, only perhaps

Exchange a passing smile on our way
Until I labour, I in labour lie
A foe of women, a foe in sight
And I only have the power to observe
And it’s a hollow temple
Not to be able to touch the world more.

Songs of Hedonism


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Songs of Hedonism

In the seduction of the sense
We have a series of pleasures
That introduces us to
A desire that is never quenched

So is it worth then to chase?
What fundamentally, shall
Never be caught, like dopamine on a leash
The variety that takes the soul

Off of its beloved course?
Celibacy is perhaps the sunlit path
For virtue and those who have read history
Nothing so tranquil as a good library

However, should you find secret love
Or a scandalous substitute
Remember, there is no sinner like a saint

Nothing so good for the health
As a touch, no learning like
The end of solitude, each moment

A happy lover’s hour, is worth
An age of dull and common life
Right down sensual love, is
A language all nations understand equally.