Lust

It used to be I ached for you
I lived for you
there was nothing but you.

Soul, it seems Time is our enemy-
You don't desire me as you once did.

The golden glory of my naked limbs
do not inspire Lust anymore.

Lust- my Love-
that Deadly Sin
that voluptuous goddess of a woman
decked in tight black attire of the business kind-
She's got work to do.

She is an evil little package,
long of leg
firm of breast
the very picture of temptation-
I long for her.

She whispers dirty nothings in your sweet ear,
but it seems to us
that you have gone deaf to her dirty knowing ways.

I miss her
I miss her touch
I miss her touching me
I miss her touching me in the perverted ways
only She knew how.

Lust did not fear throwing up my hemline in a public place
Lust did not judge
Lust was never too tired
Or oblivious.

But Lust, sick of your ways,
and your immunity to Her, said:
"Fuck this. I'm out"-
packed up Her belongings
and strutted on mile high stilettos
out of this place.

Oh my Love,
I still have that ache for you
it burns unabashedly in my most private of places,
but I fear both Lust,
and I,
are sick of losing the battle.
Tired of being your forgotten Eve,
no perky zing of fruit in my mouth.

And so Love,
Tiredly, I throw my belongings into a bag,
and slip out that door.