Sonnet Four

Depressing is the revelation gained
In deep and thorough psychotherapy
Not one iota of the love remained
Once I myself became in touch with Me.

Too cozy is the couch on which I lie,
Too soothing is the blanket and the foam.
Erotic is the essence of the high
That comes from having landed me a home.

And sensual the feeling that I flee
For fear of praising Eros on the rise
As I myself become in touch with Me,
My eyes seek out a second set of eyes.

Lest Eros be exalted high above,
I must surrender to a second love.

© 2019 A. Pope