Fanning the flames

Time and again I tell myself
‘You would do better on the shelf’
For saucy romp where once was lust
Is hard where one finds now but rust.
I feel for you what should be felt,
I try to force my heart to melt,
But finding love where there is none
But brotherly, is less than fun.
Thou wooest me, thou plead’st thy case,
And lie with me, I know thy face
But yearn for one of old, Alas!
A Jack who is ne’er coming back.
So here we sit, in comfort sure,
But stale and dry, and not of yore.
And hence I know mine enemy,
Greatest of all: my memory.
To fight a foe within my mind
Is quite a chore I now do find.
But choose I did, and choosing well
Have thus consigned myself to dwell
Within a hell of my heart fashion’d,
Barren life, lacklustre passion.
You, my love, with whom I live,
I gave myself, I must forgive.
For loving me is all your crime,
Not knowing lust from love was mine.

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