If even the smallest hint of lust is a deadly sin,
Then I already have my foot in the grave.
There’s no turning back:
The notion of *** surrounds my reality
And caresses my mind,
Rules my dreams.
*** toys with my manly nature:
Foxy cheerleaders,
Gentlemen’s clubs,
Attractive college students,
Glitzy pop artists;
Lyrics of seductive songs about pleasing arousals.
When the word “***” rolls off the tongue,
I am left fidgety and weak.
The most interesting ****** account, I perceive,
Is Eve and the serpent,
Given a serpent isn’t necessarily human,
And Eve wasn’t portrayed as slithering.
*** and snake fit together because of this tale in Eden:
The serpent flirts with Eve, messing with her ****** response
To a certain seduction.
Ssssssss! Says the serpent.
[When people hold the “ess” in saying “***” as a snake,
My guard sags as if my body readies itself for ***.]
Imagine the serpent hissing at Eve,
Winding slowly about the trunk of the tree,
As though suffocating the knowledge in the forbidden tree.
Its eyes glued to Eve,
Her naked body giving in not to the serpent’s verbal abuse of ***,
But to making mouthy contact with the taboo, savory pome sensation.
The serpent may as well have also added, “Don’t worry…God won’t know about thisssss.”
I know most poets are used to topics as such, but please understand that I'm not trying and do not intend to do any harm whatsoever here. Trust me when I say I do not write like this often; I extracted these stanzas from a larger poem I wrote after an aggravating Sunday this past week so I do apologize; however, I post it because I want to express my own struggling reality...I'm not a holy innocent or anything, and I think, especially with poetry's help, this is, for lack of a better description, a "safe" medium in getting the point of my imperfectness across (regardless of whether this as seen as imperfect, natural, "eh", I've read worse, etc.) Truthfully, I am a bit embarrassed in posting this and it's kind of a gamble at least to me, but I'll take the risk.
