Stemma

Can you see them yet? 

The little bones 

That frame and trace, 

Hidden by the carrus 

Of my shame. 

They're hiding there,

Just beyond my reach

Of will and passion. 

This I cannot do

Without the urge

To carry on. 

The Room is dark,

And Yet there 

Is a light.

Wonderful

To behold. 

Fragment me,

And hold me fast

To your yoke

Of glorious lust.

The temple is cracked

And the dust is rising.

But we carry on,

Heedless of Pandora

And her shameless

Curiosity.