Dear Father, open your heart and ears, for this my first confession in years.
What should’ve been a private conversation for two lapsed into a national hullabaloo.
I didn’t violate commandment nine, but was remiss with number six.
I succumbed to the devil’s tricks as she shimmied in that slinky dress.
Watching the wanton temptress dribble plumb nectar from her lips,
I moved in for a kiss.
With that first taste, I cursed my fate, for you know, the deed was done.
I am a politician, not a saint.
Slurping ambrosia from the golden trough was like your kingdom come.
Now, I would’ve atoned for my sins sooner, had your nectar been bitter, but you know it was sublime.
Father, that notorious trickster Lucifer is to blame.
I can forget the temptress in the blue dress, and the lip smacking joy of tasting ambrosia,
But must I part with political power too?
Open your heart, Father, let it temper what you’ve heard.
Pity a mere man who was tempted by Satan to violate your word.