Sonnet Eight

I cannot find the Lord and Giver of
The Life so oft expressed in Holy Writ.
I cannot find the form of Christian Love,
Upon the screen I scan from where I sit.

I cannot separate the mind of Christ
From that more carnal mind of human lust.
The sin for which I hear He sacrificed
His fleshly life is sin in which I trust.

I trust the very feeling that expands
Between my legs of flesh when she is brought
To surface in the words my sinful hands
Attempt to text and type, but all for naught.

The flesh that He surrendered I embrace!
Her eyes so hazel hide me from His face.

© A. Pope 2020