Sensation

Sensation,
Is a wintry whore,
That covers her breasts,
But exposes her core.

I'd stumbled into,
Her lusty den,
She was waiting to cloud,
My mind again.

I wasn't drunk,
Or in between,
Just utterly misled,
By a pensive spleen.

My thoughts were a puzzle,
Broken and scattered,
And morality's picture,
Was confusedly shattered.

My eyes met hers,
And unable to remove,
I stood rooted in place,
When she started to move.

She rose with dignity,
And I stood there mute,
My body responding,
My mind in dispute.

She laid me to rest,
With premeditation,
But my head spinned round,
With mortification.

I swooned in a daze,
Fluid with fright,
Sad recollections,
Did painfully alight.

But Sensation just smiled,
As she pursed her lips,
And her rosebud descended,
And my hands grasped her hips.