An Appraisal
©1998-2000 White Spirit
How sweet I find your lips
Not as sweet as babies roasting on a spit perhaps
But sweet, nevertheless
I yearn to taste them
Leprous limbs would satiate more,
But a worthy substitute I will gladly accept
Your eyes -
Not so pleasing as a mangled road crash
But they may yet soften the stone
Which beats upon my breast
Your body
Curved like a dull blade,
An axe could better smite -
Yet it shall suffice
You are
As cold as murder
And as sweet as death
But not so tempered as a knife
Your charms
Beguile me,
Yet poison draws me more
And yet
You are many pleasures
Enticing
More than any one
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