Restrained too close to perfection, framing each angle in entelechy, its concealed impressions embody the true character of lust, limited in context to distraction with bright star magnetism to catch each stare and burn all eyes lost to dreams of possession.

Consumed by its sylph-like presence oblique to vision, a sideways glance returned askance, sheepishly smiling to conceal thoughts turning to worlds other than this now wholly consecrated by its accidental transcendence.

It’s pre-eminence unveils pathways to a new heaven with its sinful designs of night fresh nakedness that expose more weaknesses than flesh and reveal to all the purity of possibility inevitably threatened by the desecration of fulfilment.

Not needing praise to exist but getting it as though it does, venerated politely above the defilement of vulgarity because all language limits its mystique as much as this poems use of it and writing of it steals its innocence but one day beyond actuality

its omnipresence will change the laws of desire.