The Joy of Hate

THE JOY OF HATE Straight through my mind and to my deepest heart, your whispered words keep all our love in heat; as certain as an ending has a start, the night's emotion echoes out love's beat. Though but implied, each time our eyes do meet, the feeling warm, doth tingle to my spine, and then love's glow, from head down to my feet, makes all of life both precious and divine; and makes of me the suckling, tiny child, once innocent, now deep in love's great fire, breast in the hand, see how it drives me wild, you surely know, I'd kill in such desire! The essence of what life can never know, so close at hand, but then, where does it go? There is no mercy, death must surely be as swift and feeling as orgasms fate! Are both not that which eyes can never see, and are they not the same, both love and hate? Your eyes do make my love the mockery, and something I must have to call my own. Why would a fool give all so willingly, for feelings only gods have ever known? Your flesh--so soft--so vibrant to my taste, the only aphrodisiac I need to bring me out from where love's been a waste, and put it all to you, to quench your greed. Un-ending love now comes along too late. as rings of smoke bring on the joy of hate. © RON WILSON AKA VEE BDOSA THE DOYLESTOWN POET