The Comfort of Sin

thrust and thrust and thrust
it’s safer to be in the arms of an open gust
safer than it is to give your soul to an accountant
who’ll stir it in a bowl with the rest of the ounces
thrust slow at first inch by inch
don’t give it all till there’s a need for a wrench
thrust only the willing
some sins are mortal and bar more than a seed
don’t cum solely there will come a time
thrusting faster and faster as long as you mind
this can take you far, for and from yourself
thrusting inside the being and soul of someone else
pull weeds and till soil, or else you won’t be free
the loving want inside, that’s outside your loving need


poem by:
M.E.L