Lead Us Not Into Temptation.
What shall I do tomorrow...and tomorrow...
Wretched is Macbeth although I am as he;
The blood drips too laggardly from the-
Cherry tree, and-
I become silent ~
The stench of cologne on your shirt lingers-
As the November mist curls about the house-
And drifts into a sweet repose;
Darkness massages your neck, and
You drift farther and farther away-
From me;
My bed is without blood, and I sleep alone-
With eyes opened as my tongue wets the appetite-
Of that which bestows such delight!
Shall I ascend the ladder?
My darkest evening ~
My canvas is full but nearly-
As I prepare a guise-
For those that I meet,
For only fools are too sincere;
Your eyes undress me only to abandon-
With one condescending kiss;
Day and night sleep so peacefully,
And I remember how soft and seductive-
These brown eyes were...once...a lifetime ago;
I possess not the sprightliness-
To force the climax;
A life as others I so crave!
Will this darkness transform to day?
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