Content warning: coarse, sexual language

Sweet Love, I say, I won’t give you my soul

To wear like stolen finery. Alas,

I’d sooner thrust my tongue in someone’s hole

Than shove myself up Cupid’s ample ass.

A glutted rose’s thorns will decorate

This passioned season’s summer-wilted end,

So if you yearn to weep the tears of hate,

Abandon pleasure; welcome pain’s descent.

A shallow tryst may leave the heart devoid,

But I would deify the wanton flesh

And drink the carnal poison to avoid

The cherub’s arrow pointed at my chest.

Romance and Lust are villains too akin

To tell apart within this cage of skin.