Infatuation

It's in the fat

Not in the factual

It threatens a master's libation

There's a feeling of butterflies

But they're not actual 'actual'

It's not inside any chant

But one is enchanted

A silent desire

Some poisonous flirtation

We know it would never go far

It has no future

But it still makes for

a fun toy on Christmas Day

Whenever that day might fall

But shouldn't

It's a pagan ritual you know

Illicit