False Idol

A poem of regret

My prophet come down from the mount
To sit on the sidelines
A voyeur to my masochistic trickery
Dangling something precious
Just out of my reach
My heart drums faster
As I reach my peak

An empty vessel, I know
What makes it so desirable?
An illusion of what's been done
Laid out in a pool of sweat and cum
My own personal Babylon

You came to part the sea
To disperse the waters
That inundated me
But you spoiled the fertile crescent

A gleaming from your wicked eye
And nourishment fell down from the sky
My tasteless mouth
Could not detect the poison
In the rye

Call me not into your temple
For all this sand
Has driven me simple
And I may not say the things
That should be said

Unwittingly
You made a slave of me
You marked me
Then you left
But it was I
Who set you free