To Heloise

Dear pupil you must do as it behooves
A woman's soul to give and curry love.
Do not forget that our immortal souls
Are made of choices and in the groove
Between those choices what is dark and foul--
Sin--the inglorious victory of our race
Over Christ's kindness looks us in the face
And leers, et eo ipso we are lost.
So, if your search of me is as for good
Then I can say I am not god but devil
Who uses language as gluts forage food
For appetite, and all for love of evil.
Can suckling lips restore what I can fashion
From Jesus' wounds to make a higher passion?