My love, a spider’s web of sweet deceit,
Where virtue’s gaze deems passion’s touch a crime.
You loathe my shadows, yet in love’s dark heat,
Compare my blots to yours, etched deep in time.
Come, judge me not with lips that taste of lies,
Carmine stained, where vows like cobwebs cling.
Your love, a phantom, chased with hungry eyes,
Leaving hearts like husks, a hollow thing.
Let me adore you, as you crave the gaze,
Of strangers met in twilight’s sly embrace.
Plant pity’s seed within your soul’s cold maze,
Let it bloom tears when shadows paint your face.
For secrets whisper secrets in the night,
And virtue’s cloak can hide a serpent’s tongue.
So let us dance, in shadows and pale light,
Where love and sin are threads in one mad song.
E.P. Robles | Poetry 