fourteen lines, a thing I’ve never done
conscript a thought, and bind it to a rhyme
kidnap a heart, and take it on the run
a stolen kiss may never be sublime
un mort. so like the purpose of a gun
when sex is sin, and love a mortal crime
 
a bliss of thorns is but a dreamer’s fight
secret lovers, clandestine in the night
our names, a shame that we must not reveal
a sordid passion, we are doomed to feel
a poet’s heart lies buried in the dirt
in time, we learn it’s just ourselves we hurt
 
forbidden love, that glows like stars that shine –
if it’s a sin, it’s only yours…..and mine