Sweetness. That veil we use to hide this lust is oh so not me. What quip is necessary to make this vague courtship results orientated? Do you not see the lies you make me grin?
Freshness. Those years mount upon me and make distant those rosy eyes. Chastened by the months and idled by the days, my fluttered heart beats wearily for your dumb embrace.
She's too young, I'll say, too young. But not that young. She is a girl and I, well, I. . .am. And counting years is oh so pedestrian.
With the phonecalls and the texts and my jacket upon her. To her sister's house and asleep with my jacket abandoned I leave her be. And walking home in shadowed blues, the street doused in yesterday's rain and passing trucks insistent with cigarettes long gone, I wonder how I'll make amends, this, a second chance.
Sweetness. I only use exclamation marks for you.
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