While waves of passion lap the shore,
I plumb the depths of Eros' lake
And drink it dry, and look for more:
Oh God!, that this desire might slake
And ease my need, damp that desire
That keeps my very soul on fire
And burns away each bridge I make
And slides me back, each step I take
And sinks me deeper in the mire.
From: The Beckoning Hand
Copyright 2006 © James Walter Orr