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How blind she was to be deceived
By nectar, well seduced.
So sweet its taste, its warmth divine;
Her passions first set loose.
A hurried shock from hand to heart,
Then red blush drapes her cheeks.
A drum encased in flesh and bone,
When passionís voice first speaks.
To kiss again is not too soon
When last kiss is complete;
To make of them a love-born chain
When passionís kisses meet.
She feels his pulse through zealous flesh,
Conferring hers in turn.
Flush cheek to neck and lip to ear
When passions dawn and burn.
The nectar sweet disguises self
And masquerades as good,
Then hearts betray their wisdom sound
And passion knew they would.
Acidic ire is sweet turned ill;
Heís found another host,
And leaves a wounded debutante
To live with passionís ghost.
Here, I share, with stark honesty, my life.