I might consider
trading freedom for love,
as most days
I feel about as free
as a housecat
prowling its suburban domain,
king of the shag carpet,
whereas love
begets love, even in confinement
and no one commands
thoughts, not even a lover,
not even when mated
for life.
So let me lick my chops in peace--
seeming illicit seems delicious.

This illicit ditty is vaguely responsive to my own prompt over at Real Toads: Freedom for Love