Lustacyst

Lust in gusts of passion,
Causing this heart to lose traction,
Slipping in the swoon of debauchery,
While waiting to be skewed by cupids archery,
Nervous prey just seconds away from death,
Soaking up sympathy with every last breath.

A restricting black curtain keeping me in check,
The pantomime hangs my own eyes around my neck,
They are just blood shot pearls throwing glances,
Hopping for slim pickings and thinner chances,
With dancers on dance floors,
For scores of whores to release my balls.

Fuck! What the fuck did I just say,
My words maggot eating this decay,
I’m a repulsive piece of tasteless fruit rotten,
Sotting fool with responsibility forgotten,
Disgusting verbatim of charmless assaults,
A fist punches the head that calls vulgar insults.

Then there’s the flamboyant gestures that are as common as dust,
True pledges of love though dammed by this wall of rusty lust,
And yet I would offer my riches, my pearls,
For one night of hearts with lovely girls,
Please listen for my list starts: Honey, Peaches, Strawberries, and cream,
My tongue, your belly, your nether, no never, I dream so it seems.

Then how about just one of your pearls,
A glance for my perils,
My troubles,
Give me another one of those doubles,
To make these feelings slow,
But my lust a cyst and it will grow.

Until I’m consumed by my rampage of dribble,
To draw my phone number I scribble,
And to speak of romance is only a stutter,
I utter words as a bouquet but instead set butterflies a flutter,
I want to place your rose petals and pollen to my lips,
To be stung by the bee as I lick the nectar with plentiful kisses and sips.

Honey buttered love is just the sticky lust of drunks,
Lashings of sweat and sweet promises that morning debunks,
And once the honey is gone so to the lust sours,
And all beauty offered the night before, slight sleep devours,
Gone are your flowers and the heart is bereft,
And it seems that when you leave me only the dirt is left.

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