When she's into literature
You leap before you look," she said to me,
but oft I find I never look at all.
A flighty gamble lost when one can't see,
but oft I find there's glory in the fall.
To soar in lust does ne'er precede the act,
but twinkles through the air on exhaled sighs,
and finds anathema in drying fact,
until in lonely skies it winks and dies.
A sexted sonnet surely sought in jest,
yet challenge wrought is fated writ in light.
But on lust's grave the shrunken sext must rest,
as hallowed verse is drying fact's birthright.
"You leap before you look, and so you fall,
and falling is the surest flight of all."