Why, the act itself, naked before me
Burning away micro-atoms that lust,
It’s an endless pit of excessive worry.
My soul left to die in this fiery dust.
For we who have experienced a rape –
It shifts and lingers as a bad odor,
By the nape of rape, I cannot escape.
Our dimensional windows appear closed forever.
Rape is an anguish of the heart, a barricado.
It sustains, every endured agony,
It brings forth grief, woe, and pain, bravado.
It is my garden of Gethsemane.
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John G Evans & Paavo Oso Arts 
It’s a play that steals power.
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Yes, you are correct. Often times it can be a difference between lustful deviation and a power play. I do not like either. I thank you for your reply. I know you can clearly understand me. Best always. John
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