I tell I`m wild; the flesh that I do crave;
Though my outside does play a quite calm Joe.
But deep in me, all things this so behave:
All dames I see my ins with fire do grow.
And I with eyes that seem no lusty look,
Get covered by a mask: women no fun.
But there inside of me my system`s shook
I cry to bed with one to have it done,
And oft I find myself almost to shoot
And hurry to my place to it go through.
And like a man gone mad I beat my flute
And weep, 'No woman I`ve, that one to do.'
And then I envy men, the ones those some
That though they`re bad, in sums to them they come.
Luis Estable
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-123/
