[Yves S L]

Version 1.30 (further exentsion)

Temptation

Is it so wrong to want to make such sweet
And careful love to ghosts that flock my room
Like spectral pigeons seeking carnal crumbs
Around an eerily deserted pond?
I'm asking for a friend who is much burdened
With uncontrolled insouciance, and some
Strange curse he got by cutting off a witch
When late for work on Monday morning. Ah,
What is a soul worth anyway these days,
Especially with spiritual inflation?
Unstable witches and portentous warnings
Have all the subtlety of glory holes;
I would ignore both, all the same, but still
The internet ignores my ghoulish fetish
And leaves me wanting when I want the most.
I tracked the witch down and apologised.
Her cackling laugh was so insistent that
I tuned it out like traffic near my house.
When laughter died, she started on the topic
Of virgin sacrifices by the dozen,
And there was nothing left to do but leave.
I have to speak aloud about the nights
When writhing, agitating ghosts would reach
A pitch of pleasure unimaginable,
And one of them would pause their fun at times
And look me sharply in the eye as if
A thoroughbred atop his mare would pause
To look across a fence straight in the eye
Of some poor runt without a mate who must
Avert his sight from the castrating gaze
But cannot stop his eyes returning to
The thoroughbred exaggerating while
The mare is louder to accent the point—
Such is my life, such is my night and day.
Yearning Dante would be sympathetic,
And write my suffering in the Inferno,
And mark forever its significance,
And place his laurel wreath around my head
To make me happier than I have been,
All full of lust and edging on damnation.
I want to grab a shifting ghost and wreck it.
(I lied about the need for gentleness.)
I hear their passions on the window pane;
It sounds like raining, but there is no rain.

Version 1.20 (Beginning to extend the poem)

Is it so wrong to want to make such sweet
And careful love to ghosts that flock my room
Like spectral pigeons seeking carnal crumbs
Around an eerily deserted pond?
I'm asking for a friend who is much burdened
With uncontrolled insouciance, and some
Strange curse he got by cutting off a witch
When late for work on Monday morning. Ah,
What is a soul worth anyway these days,
Especially with spiritual inflation?
Unstable witches and portentous warnings
Have all the subtlety of glory holes;
I would ignore both, all the same, but still
The internet ignores my ghoulish fetish
And leaves me wanting when I want the most.
I tracked the witch down and apologised.
Her cackling laugh was so insistent that
I tuned it out like traffic near my house.
When laughter died, she started on the topic
Of virgin sacrifices by the dozen,
And there was nothing left to do but leave.
Yearning Dante would be sympathetic,
And write my suffering in the Inferno,
And mark forever its significance,
And place his laurel wreath around my head
To make me happier than I have been,
All full of lust and edging on damnation.
I want to grab a shifting ghost and wreck it.
(I lied about the need for gentleness.)
I hear their passions on the window pane;
It sounds like raining, but there is no rain.



Version 1.10

Temptation

Is it so wrong to want to make such sweet
And careful love to ghosts that flock my room
Like spectral pigeons seeking carnal crumbs
Around an eerily deserted pond?
I'm asking for a friend who is much burdened
With uncontrolled insouciance, and some
Strange curse he got by cutting off a witch
When late for work on Monday morning. Ah,
What is a soul worth anyway these days,
Especially with spiritual inflation?
Yearning Dante would be sympathetic;
I want to grab a shifting ghost and wreck it.
I hear their passions on the window pane;
It sounds like raining, but there is no rain.

Version 1.00

Is it so wrong to want to make such sweet
And careful love to ghosts that flock my room
Like spectral pigeons seeking carnal crumbs
Around an eeringly deserted pond?
I'm asking for a friend who is much burdened
With uncontrolled insouciance, and some
Strange curse he got by cutting off a witch
When late for work on Monday morning. Ah,
What is a soul worth anyway these days,
Especially with spiritual inflation?
Yearning Dante would be sympathetic;
I want to grab a shifting ghost and wreck it.
I hear them making love on window pane;
It sounds like raining but there is no rain.