I, rooted in desire also wish to corrupt you.

I look upon flesh as it devours flesh as it fails to touch the soul.

‘Ignite me,’ says the soul.

The ruse of a body does not move me. I remain unbound and free.

Without trust the soul is unflinched.

Love is in the body until the ghost of love is rejected from the vessel. Whether unrequited, unreciprocated, unmatched.
Marinated in doubt, unpalatable to the poor emotional being, at last it becomes wiser and moves forward.

Do not beat on a dead horse, dear reader.