Forget what the preachers say
Disregard every sermon you've heard
I, the priestess at love's altar,
Say, 'desire' is not a dirty word
What do they know about longing?
Of the drug of a lover's lips
One who has never been drunk
On the seduction of their swaying hips
They, who've never been woken
with desire banging at their door
What do they know of that eternal strain,
of wanting more, some more?
Covered in numbing robes of virtue
their hearts have never lurched
their skins have never screamed
with a dire need to be touched
In a frightful island of isolation
unheard, untouched, unloved,
where would you and I be
If desire was a dirty word?
Desire is not a dirty word
for it is proof of a living, beating heart
The first bright bold stroke in red
of love's amazing art