Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight:
but all things are naked and opened
unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.*

Hebrews 4:13

When first I met you, girly-girl
you gave my hormones quite a whirl
believing I had found the pearl, Porneia…

The shell was richer than your charm
assuring me you meant no harm
my stroke of luck: you clasped my arm, Porneia.

You called me with that sultry voice
and made me think I had no choice, Porneia.

You glistened in a fantasy
of pixillating pink HD
your flesh tone’s ever-changing hue
sure made me want to do it to
that someone just beyond my view, Porneia.

I emptied every magazine
in search of angles yet unseen.
The angels fell upon my screen, Porneia.

More I tasted, more I needed –
yet the bed remained unseeded
waiting for your rose to bloom
recurring passions to resume
in contemplation of your womb, Porneia.

Exposed: your jaded artifice,
that bright celestial orifice,
gynecologic precipice:  Porneia.

I took you for a worldly muse
dead mistress of the thousand views;
my carnal will could not refuse,  Porneia.
With your deceit I came to grips;
you represent true love’s eclipse –
the spurt of passion died in drips, Porneia.

Alas, our book of love must end.
The final chapter’s pages bend;
the bookmarks, now deleted, send
each one, a flower to your  grave.
My sinful soul you could not save, Porneia.

Oh what has come between us princess?
Now your rare allure evinces
fearful alarm, the urge to flee –
our love was never meant to be.
Thus ends it all twixt me and thee, Porneia.