lust.com

I love you,

an overused phrase

said in jest;

just like passing chords,

which are devoid of depth,

of feeling, of urge;

to make it desirable

to whom it was told.

 

I love you,

or perhaps I should say

I lust for you;

For what I see

is a body of desire

for sense enjoyment,

where love has nothing to do.

For if love is eternal,

up to when my love would last?

Would it be there when beauty has faded

and what's left is your crust.

 

I love you,

a hundred times I’ve said,

I even had said it

just to appease the dead.

To take rather than to give,

to control and to deceive;

a tool of disposal

that depends on my needs.

 

I love you. I adore you.

But who exactly is the I?

Was it me the temporary

when love is eternal?

Was it I who is weak,

easy, airy, fragile;

Who is but a plaything

of the objects of desire.

 

I love you.

But who or what are

you the one that I adored?

Are you the one that I see, I taste, I feel?

Is you the one that I hear and smell?

Would I still love you

even after the day when

our dreams had all gone,

vanished into thin air,

carried somewhere by time,

by the whims of the wind.

 

After the last goodbye,

after the final farewell,

would eternal love

still be there.