Another sonnet

Unquenchable
A passion sparks a distant memory's flame;
Your single glance cries out an untold will.
Too often cut to call this blade a game,
The edge that's in such looks is no cheap thrill.
Sweet poison teaching now from history
To want it all and yet go not toward
That luscious Tantalus of mystery:
Resist, resist, or fall upon my sword!
Still love-sick longing deep beneath the spleen
Must force me up to steal a breath of scent,
Which wafts seditious tendrils in between
My head and heart to tempt against intent.
In this embrace there is no way to win,
And thus we end before we first begin.