You thought me conquered by your silken limbs
and for a while you had me by the throat.
Into my head a thousand acronyms
like ‘false love of a trespasser’ did float.
Bedazzled by your frontlights on my road;
transfixed by mouthish muscularity;
your mountains gripped my membership payload
and drained my horn of masculinity.
And yet you wonder whitely with dismay
how come I through your pantomime did see?
Why not seduced by your sweet cabaret —
your presentation done so adroitly?
Despite your aptitude to hypnotise
I saw dark in your heart without my eyes.
© 2012, Alan Morrison