LUST is a juicy fruit
the seeds of impurity cover it like a blanket
once it is bitten into, the taste of desire overwhelms the senses
enveloping them, a euphoric cloud of fantasies
which are played on repeat in the head
press play for a demonstration of frustration and regret
as one remembers the taste of sweet strawberries
the lingering tartness of pleasure
the tangible bitterness of self-interest
the juice is dripping from the chin
of those who indulge in this enticing sin
ensnared in the fury of so-called passion

two lovers, caught between silk bedding
fighting for the covers, bare skin breathing through fibers
whispers dangling in the room's stale air
a clock ticks the tempo of passion
the lovers feign an argument about something trivial
laughing, they resolve and go into fits of happiness
outside, the leaves on the trees rustle in the wind
somewhere, a school bus blares its horn
the world is waking up
but our lovers are still in bed, dreaming lazy
she wakes up in a delirious haze
he coos at her and she purrs in delight
finally she stirs and rises to make breakfast
whole wheat banana pancakes
Jack Johnson variations