You’re skin is not pale,

but those skins of others pale in comparison,

your azure eyes, your silver points of grey,

vermillion on your lips,

beckons me; prays me to stay,

obsidian… your hair is a swath of dreamscapes,

you fall on the air and the air subsides in such a gentlemanly manner,

it’s pushed aside where you reside,

and there you are, where you were before,

you look at me and I’m just a bore, a boar,

those dilated tenors pierce me, they punch they bore,

as you walk through me,

you question my existence,

I wonder if I am.

but you smile, I laugh a mile,

I reconcile,

myself with who I was,

and they are not the same,

but might I approach,

and may I preach,

the wonders of your lavishness,

the breadth of your incedence,

because I didn’t make you and you were plenty without me,

so… what do I have to add to this,

-perfection; it lacks me

-things of beauty; well they betray and I hear you as you say nay,

-my strength of arms is but miniscule,

-confession; I am nude without you to wear,

-dedication; it becomes me and this is all I have,

but words are only words and they will find themselves lost.

to woo, to press, to capture

and thus to enrapture,

and captivate,

the day is late,

the eve is bearing down,

and I want you,

and I want to need you,

but you could say no,

but I will never know,

unless I ask.



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