Lust, Oddly is Not Listed in Proverbs 6

She was so pretty
when she was younger
that is the way to the end
and then the eye is hooked
by desirous form
the way the monk breaks his vow
and catches a carp barehanded

but there is more to it
it is not for love of form
that the married stray
there is so much loss of self
as one progresses towards death
a loss of purpose and future
an inability to pour desire
into the crevasse of every moment
living as a carapace discarded by time
we are deafened by the drone
of routine,
of competence,
of familiarity
it is hollow and we weep
there is nothing left for us to feel
deeply down in the core

and then the devil walks in
a compliment a smile
a light touch on the wrist
a word whispered throaty and warm
lead down by an illusion of self
lead down by a longing for
for what? for sex? not exactly
damned by one last opportunity
to dream once again of defining
this life in new illustrious terms
to throw off the shackles of a
worn and thoroughly familiar domesticity
with its easy charms and simple peace
this is not what we pictured as our legacy
instead we want to embrace everything
alive and voluminous and unreal
so strong the desire for potentiality
we are lead of the precipice with out even a whimper
and even a pockmarked husk of desire
left over from a thousand dull carcasses
can seem like the last thread of hope
of youth and of fortune
and holding on double fisted tight
it severs and you fall
a wasted body
whipped down hard
into the rocks