Search of Art

I escape into a passion of sexual temperature

For my love

My drought is a single serving of frustration

My bondage is the doubt that my love will never find

Me

So my search has no taste

My heart beats but with a symphany of sympathy

The map he uses to search for me has no destination

So my faith has to be flighted for his discovery

In his search will he find me_ 

Or will he fall short to the lady that stands in his way

Who they call her Seduce-her Maps

Or will his eyes never see a work of a devils art

And keep searching for his work of art?