Sonnet - Combustion

Pleasure me no more, my devilish thing,

Tease not my most rigid, eager bliss,

Keep me from thy bounty's plundering,

Bless me not with slightest, sweetest kiss.

Look upon me not-- avert thine eyes!

I'd see thee no more, thou ripest peach,

Prithee, ask not for my compromise,

Thou doeth best to keep beyond my reach.

For thou hast touched the limits of my will,

I beg of thee -- do not my lusts persist,

I would have a moment to lie still,

Lest thy radiant gifts bid I insist.

'Tis too much! I fear that I may combust!

And leave thee to gaze, shocked, as I am dust.

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.