Lead Us Not Into Temptation.

What shall I do tomorrow...and tomorrow... Wretched is Macbeth although I am as he; The blood drips too laggardly from the- Cherry tree, and- I become silent ~ The stench of cologne on your shirt lingers- As the November mist curls about the house- And drifts into a sweet repose; Darkness massages your neck, and You drift farther and farther away- From me; My bed is without blood, and I sleep alone- With eyes opened as my tongue wets the appetite- Of that which bestows such delight! Shall I ascend the ladder? My darkest evening ~ My canvas is full but nearly- As I prepare a guise- For those that I meet, For only fools are too sincere; Your eyes undress me only to abandon- With one condescending kiss; Day and night sleep so peacefully, And I remember how soft and seductive- These brown eyes were...once...a lifetime ago; I possess not the sprightliness- To force the climax; A life as others I so crave! Will this darkness transform to day?