By John G. Evans © 2020

In as much the way she makes me feel,

By power mystique that seems unreal.

Truth-bearing as really in my thoughts surreal,

My fate bears witness, my soul she kills.

De Sales has written, a spiritual death,

To me bears truth with a wanting caress.

As Darwish takes note an unwanted siege,

Take note my friends, her desire to please.

Rilke speaks of a woman so skilled,

Arched in an undulated form her breasts thus, filled.

I shake disturbed by the sense of power,

From where it comes, I know not the hour.

Augustine shares abstinence is at her best,

Moderation shall lead you, your soul to test.

One must beg for God to intercede, please,

Bear witness upon another, leave my soul to bear true peace.

A moral integrity for Christ to judge,

One begs for mercy as woman perpetuates an erotic nudge.

To think or know the womb lay sacred,

Is truth ‘tween mortality and homo sapiens.

Upon true abstinence my peace remains,

Where power over souls thus now sustained.

But leave me here with the temptress shame,

I listen not as Sirens claim, to rid my soul among the flames.

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