A French Sonnet

[butterflydreaming]

Consign my soul to the hell of desire;
Make me into a whore for your regard;
Taunt me with your manner, both cold and hard;
And while my frail essence burns in this fire,

Make of me a criminal and a liar;
Think nothing of this love that you discard;
Encase my heart in glass, stoppered and jarred,
Stay truth from my lips; bind it in barbed wire.

Do all this to me just from a glance,
Random meeting, a conjuction of chance,
A few fair words, polite and perhaps kind,
A comely face, and a manner with charm
Never intending this extent of harm
~impossible love, madness in my mind.