The smooth creases of character
that dress their faces are
of a seductive concept.
Idle fingers rest on courses
of flesh, in likeness of
worship.
Groping, surely, with perverse
hope to be more than
the passing infatuation of
an older man;
to be more to the man,
too afraid to say - and
with it passions lost
sourly to strangers of
familiar, sentimental being.
Left Unsaid
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