a treatise on such indelicate things

there is such shame in my pleasure
where i cannot reconcile one and the other
where i become a philosopher of centuries past, trying to connect, try to make one the same
where i try to justify such things
i look, i stare, i try to understand
but there is no one in the same
perhaps for a brief breathless moment there is
but the fear, the revulsion rushes in yet again
maybe once i am old and wise i can understand the two as one from experience
but for now, i do not