A Mutation Of Lust Poem by RIC BASTASA

you tic tac toe
me, have we not
agreed before?

we must thrive
on the secrets of
pretensions.

pretend to be
the garden
and i pretend
as the gardener

do not be true.

the closeness of
the sun and sea
would mean chaos.

i am the moon and
you be the sea
and i land upon your
breasts of oceans
that i cannot consume.

admit, i must,
there is no love
here, as it would
be an impossibility.

your lips unto mine.
i raise your hands
to touch my hair.
you close your eyes
not for love but
for escape.

i close mine to conceal
this hate.
i touch your body inorder
to forget.