I Kiss By The Book

“Elusive – loose, if losing fits with fate –
and fleeting, even firm in fingers’ fold:
divined, and so defined, for whom it’s tolled.”
In so few words can worries warrant wait,
when doubt decries devotion ‘til distrait.
I’d deem her Love if she had locks of gold,
or if she’d shattered her creator’s mold,
but no such muse is she without that trait.
In lieu, I linger on her loving heart;
‘neath modest breasts and mottled, muddy skin,
at least its beat completes my lullaby.
Her voice, no siren’s song, still sings its part,
and on her lips I taste the sweetest sin.
They hope for hopeless Love, but I get by.


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