There isn't a Force in the World that could get me...

Lacking no sinuous
libido, I can't set the
light to a wick, can't slink silent
links around a wrist, not for not
liking the stuff, for
laps unresponding or untouched, but
lacking a certain
lo-jack for response, the
low-cunning seen in so many other
lotharios around me, I
lick my wine stained
lips, unburdened by caresses soft as
lotus petals swimming in warm water, like
life, so
leisurely it forgets to float as the
lantern submerges, I
lurch from
love to love unaware of how
long they'll
last, or how far apart they'll be when finally
lain.