Classic Poem

Juventius, my honey, while you played
I stole a little kiss from you. It was
Sweeter than sweet ambrosia. I paid
The penalty, though; for, nailed to the high cross
Of your displeasure, I remember spending
More than an hour feebly excusing it,
While all the tears I shed for the offending
Act didn't soften your fierce mood one bit.
As soon as it was done you washed the place
With water, then you wiped it with each finger
In turn, meticulously, just in case
Any contagion from my mouth might linger —
As though you'd been infected on the lips
By some foul whore's saliva! Now, moreover,
You've sentenced me to the racks, the screws, the whips
Reserved by Love for the tormented lover;
So that, ambrosial once, that kiss became
Bitterer than the bitterest hellebore.
If that's the sort of punishment you claim,
I shan't steal kisses from you any more.