Life's temporary pleasures inspire guilty fixations.
Shallowness devours the manifestations of beauty,
Exposing the tightness of skin and plump lips,
And the undeniable scent of sexual sweat.
Loneliness occupies neglected bed sheets.
Naked skin feels like a dressed mistake;
The material suffocates aroused moans,
But curses bleed through leaving residue.
Rid my body of its own distasteful vices.
Yet, the five illusionists possess a craft,
Of turning inclinations into personal vexations;
Untamed reflexes prevail over virtue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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