Sin Has No Place In Pastoral Settings

Containing you in words was that my goal?
Sizing you to fit what space I had to give?
Writing each small part of you
did I lose the whole?

Describing your structural elements,
the body of my text
neatly ordered and composed
effected with a loose style,
stoic; yet, rigidly controlled.

You were to be the idyllic poem
supple and flexible as speech
with a rising and falling rhythm all your own.

What is significant is that to each
expanding layer of thought
I press inward for the answers
seeking to contain the true nature
and germ of your flesh.

Sin has no place in pastoral settings.

I sought to have you as my lover
thoroughly enjoyed and then forgotten;
but, I find no great ease in forgetting
all the wonderful lessons
which you taught me,
how to write and love without the bed.

I ask then;
"Can the genius and heat of passion
survive solely in the head?"