The Secret Sin, The Concealed Pleasure Poem by RIC BASTASA

what appear outside
the body
this house of flesh

mostly are the acceptable
& at least
what the eyes can
tolerate, at least expense
of repercussion,
the conformity
parlance

admirable, kissing the woman you
say you love and marrying
not only her but her
family as well, the banquet and
the rituals, all perfect

a sir, a madam
no turbulence of the heart
nothing to
a ripple,
in the hidden depths of
human vacuous
longings

those that you cannot say
but ultimately giving you
indescribable pleasure

you hide but soon
like a second personality
speaking during the
night
a shape takes you
silently into the place
where multiplied
ecstasies
spread a view

invites you
to drink and dance and
sleep with
it
not sleep really
if sleep be just considered
as another
obvious metaphor for
something
obscene


by recklessness you
give in
of course
hypocritically
allegedly coerced
by the set of
circumstances
beyond your
restraints,

and indeed
those that have not lied
begin to
concoct whatever possible
beautiful
excuses that abound
like a bouquet of
assorted flowers

saying i cannot imagine having
done it

(i can still imagine the
magnanimity of the
intricate and
detailed design of
embroidered pleasure
in that
expensive water-bed)

saying how on earth
have i done this
exclaiming
trying to eradicate the stain
of bliss
(or sin and asking
how can sin exist
on such a beautiful feeling?)

it was good, it was extremely
beautiful
i have experience heaven
i have seen the face of God

in simple prose
you go home devastated
though no one
knows
except the one who also
live in another
island
the one who slept with you
and licked your
armpit

you ask: Was it worth it?
conscience, shut up!
that is now how you end up like.