The lustful burden of love!
By Stanley Collymore
Don’t tell me; you’ve fallen in love again and
this time it’s for real! How many times have
I previously heard from you that same old
and unconvincing spiel? And when
will you ever learn not to confuse love
with lust, as time and time again you
miserably fail to distinguish the
one from the other or fully
acknowledge that the
two aren’t by any
means one and
the same?
Lust, let me candidly spell it out for you,
is the process where you do absolutely
nothing at all to even remotely suppress the
unbridled sexual urges that wantonly and
lasciviously assail your yearning body
as one would circumspectly expect
you to do; love, however, while
evidently recognizing and
certainly willing to enjoy these state—of—
affairs as well, nevertheless enjoins
itself in a more dignified and
erudite manner than lust
is either capable of
or could ever
muster.
For although the carnal fascination,
coital intentions and bonking routines
are unmistakably the same with love as
they obviously are with lust and prevalently
there, lust’s only aspirations are distinctly
impermanent, short lived and offer
no commitment at all, let’s be perfectly
clear; while for its part the emphasis
of love is to secure a freehold of
the chosen object’s heart and
what’s more do so on
a committed and
established
basis.
© Stanley V.Collymore
27 January 2014.
(2014)
Comment:
In our contemporary, western society where the expertise of wooing is a dying skill, leg-overs are considered far more interesting and important than leg-ups and as such made more welcome, and a well-placed knee slotted seductively between the thighs and complemented by an ostentatious grab of the buttocks, fondling of inviting tits an a concerted thrust of the tongue down the recipient’s eager throat are now the customary mode of initial introductions between previous strangers to each other and bizarrely and quite delusionarily misrepresented as what realistically they inconceivably can never be; it’s hardly surprising then that for sometime now, and significantly too at an alarming pace, what has resulted is a society largely comprised of dysfunctional oiks.
Oiks vainly searching amidst their “how’s your father” escapades leading to sexual encounters that are seldom if ever earth shattering in nature, and which in turn give rise to the participants finding themselves either caught up or actively involved in serial acts of infidelity as they desperately embark on their fruitless search for the elusive Holy Grail of Love is sadly all too commonplace.
All the same I’d like to dedicate this poem to Ulrika Jonsson, Nigella Lawson, the late Jimmy Savile, Paddy Ashdown, Simon Cowell, Senator John McCain, Françoise Hollande and several others, including the many cuckolders and their offspring ignorant of their situation, who quite literally provided me with the inspiration to write it but who are far too numerous to mention here. Thank you all!
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