Sonnet CCXLI

A bar of Pain, as soapy as a sweet shampoo,
entices us to delve in misadventures Pain may dwell within.
Seductive, slippery, inevitable therein
and entering the eyes of cruel sensation’s shoe,
undressing us and lathering us naked too,
now wicked Pain dives deeper to our eyes – a pin –
as sharp as any other wickedness or sin,
and burning, strikes us unprotected, bare, and nude.

How desperately we rub, augmenting magnitude!
And liquid aspirins of joy seem flat and crude.

For water spices Pain, as water fires spice.
But after our ordeal, the Pain still stays nearby
and reddens eyes with tears, as each and everyone
is branded with a soapy souvenir of vice.