Mr. Rochester's Paramour Poem by James Anderson Poet

O' this heart of mine
how it breathes yours,
although it whines unrepaired
as needs to it be,
pulsing epiphanic sighs
through perceptions screaming deafness.

I witness love in the four-corned roundness of your eyes
a view that treads yearning pearls
deeper into this souls aching slumber
yet I cannot anoint your lips,
as much as this mouth curls the thought of you
I kiss corners in the empty corridors of my brokenness.

You betroth proclamations as free as the twelve winds
I ride the swirl between sex and religion,
nailing morality to my self-contained cross
a guilt of law given by god,
tightening naked principle between passion and conscience,
where wife and mistress tempt no middle logic.

yet, if I only could... if I only should...?