§

My love for you
is like a padded cell.
Inside which my desire thrashes about,
ranting and moaning
like the spectre of our passion.
It is a madness that cant be cured.
A mental illness of the heart,
that leads me to howl in the night.
If there were a cure,
I would not take it.
No therapy can relieve this horrific longing.
I shall giggle and rave
and pound my head
against the padded wall
of our love
until the frontal lobotomy
of your touch
soothes the raging lunatic
inside my soul.