Lust is Not Love

The life in him runs under the skin, under my hand, running through the splotches, smelling up into my nose

Where the sickness is beginning to cry, vomiting the crying, and then i can breathe vomiting it

It lies dead and warm upon me, touching me naked through my clothes

It was not that i could think of myself as no longer unvirgin, because

The shape of my body where i used to be a virgin is in the shape of

An empty door frame

The lowly dwelling where another erring mortal lay

Love, he called it

Bloody, bawdy villain!

Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

Oh vengeance!

That son of a bitch

I knew that fear was invented by someone that had never had the fear of living

Then it was over

From the terrible blood, to the red bitter flood

On the clothes we both wore

He confessed to God,

And forgiven was he, but what about me

Have I not wrestled thigh to thigh with Satan himself?

I guess people to whom sin is just a matter of words, to them salvation is just words too

For me it was not over

Haste me to know’t that I with wings as swift

As meditation or the thoughts of “love”

May sweep to my revenge

And I lying calm in the slow silence

Waked to discover it

For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come?

He was gone


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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