Spirit, beauty ineffable,
lust once again
flaunts its smooth curvatures of dream,
invites with seductive eyes,
tantalizes with darkened, honeyed words.
Is it possible to be one with you,
possible for your wings
to unfold a thousand golden voices,
possible the full flight
of your splendour attending your face,
for you to appear, in short, while I’m tied
to lust that’s allied
to my obscurities and my pride?
Feed that pleasure, feed the pleasure’s spell
and I feed the fear of death as well.
Shall I presume I can play
with lust – yet remain above it,
remain unaffected, unsullied by it?
Yet to be drawn to the play at all shows
only that I’m still enslaved by it.
Spirit, beauty ineffable,
Shall I try to adjust you, redefine you,
or imagine lust flows from you?
Shall blessedness
accommodate my terms
and meet my pettiness?
If lust there be, let it be reborn,
a radiant, strengthened longing for you.
Lust for a beautiful body,
lust for position or power,
lust for the myriad pleasures of this world –
can both lust and freedom be?
Spirit, beauty ineffable,
you only mirror what is free.
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