How craftily she crept inside  
my idle mind with furtive thoughts  
that ultimately I'd abide  
like literary juggernauts.  
She got me hooked with a conceit 
infectious as a potent drink  
that knocked me off my metric feet   
and put me on desire’s brink. 
But in the drunken repartee 
initiated by the booze, 
how quickly lust transforms to lay, 
seducing with its rhyming ruse. 
Then, passions that I bottled up 
along with the subversive drink 
begin seditiously to sup 
on grey stuff that I used to think 
with. Soon it’s used to serve their quest,  
while I’m a pawn at their behest.   
Now I languish, occupied 
by liquid toxins run amok. 
They serve conceits that now deride 
me in the portals where they’re stuck, 
dispensing fancies to the brain 
and paralyzing limbs and heart 
that should be clamoring for gain 
and leaning to becoming part 
and parcel of that greater me. 
Instead, desire and the drink  
established their hegemony 
above me and it’s there I sin
mere subject to their stern command 
to which I simply lend a hand.