by pven123

She’d be the fate that spurred Psyche
Lifting the lamp to her lover,
The devotion Venus damned, but
We love too much to recover;
I’d be the song of anarchy’s wake,
Bringing sweet Cupid’s mercy —
The sin to Sunday’s worship, at
Our affection’s controversy.

She’d be the criminal desiring
A support for her offense,
The rightness of condemnation
At our own expense.
I’d be the throbbing in our heartbeats,
Crouched as figures pass by,
The brush of tender lips,
Hand to hand and eye to eye,
Woman to woman,
Desire to desire,
Heart to heart,
As we defy.

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