Roll Call of the Lesser Devils:

86.
Cholers enraged hues,
Shifting anger's point of view,
Wielding only stolen holy thoughts
And thinking of heaven I just bought (for you).
A vicious regress could redress my hate,
For I never loved
And am now quite unsatisfied,
So above sanctimonious,
Prim, prissy kisses.
Blushes can not be faked.
My crush would trust your flushed face
To be affection through and through,
But you have never been that way.
Still I hunger, crave for much longer,
Though I'm getting no younger,
It's futile to stave off the inevitable,
Usable and yet the victim of no usury,
Capable hands all around,
And yet, none reaching me.
Only love’s sick thorns are not seizable,
What could be the excuse for not grasping at lust?
Capable only, not overly refined,
Hoarsely gasping for breath,
Sight of my figure pleasing to the terminally ill,
Disgust can easily be identified,
When such bias is evident,
As it almost always is.
But there is no illness in my
Simple exhaustion,
I have been hell bent,
Working hard and fiercely wheezing,
There’s no need to deny this seasonal affliction;
Words bring self treasons like a good stallion
Wins a victory wreath for his owner.
Why deny you can be innocent no longer,
But instead need experience and training,
And some serious filling out over time?
Choler reached me and covered my lust,
A sign of too little trust.
I will not compromise,
We must both be satisfied,
Perhaps I simply must improvise
So concede the quietly pleasing,
Vision of course seeks to impress,
And you, a lovely reader, no less,
What could it be
That needs must confess?