Epistle to a Faithful Wife
by Steve Becker
May 2, 2007
Think not this letter comes with vain pretense,
to move your pity, or to mourn th' offense.
Too well I know it wasn't happenstance,
that turned my head for a sordid glance.
I strolled by Venus in the pantheon.
Goddess of Love--without a peplos or a chiton.
Should I feel guilty and ignore the pleasure,
with this gifted eye for three dimensional treasure?
She was fruit of the vine--a moment divine.
I heard choirs of angels sing, "That honey was fine!"
But in that moment of weakness you came to mind,
and with love in the balance, the illusion resigned.
Pardon me, I smacked a bit of devilry.
Ergo, you ought to counsel me.
Guilt is but a charlatan's remedy.
Love is the silver bullet for debauchery.
My conscience is clear, yet sensible of shame.
My life I hazard to preserve my name.
When to this final sentence I submit,
the pen condemns me, but my heart acquits.
About the author:
I am a husband and father who enjoys recording a few thoughts for posterity after our three children go to bed.
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