By: Gus Victoria
A ghost,
A spectre,
A feeble soul
Besmeared and befouled
Searching,
In toil shattered,
For a cosmic partner;
A soul not lost
In mind complete,
Joy near beheld,
Physical pleasure
Is known
Before all ecstasy
Is fully realized,
Plaintive cries
Thrown to the wind
In climactic embrace
Do little to bend
The iron will
Of selfish indulgence.
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