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R.I.P.

16 Nov
Under weathered daisies
allegedly buried, but mindfully present
an old-timer - well past his prime,
beneath a cold etched granite marker
in the gut-wrenching hope,
that she might willingly return
to  recall the pleasant times at his soil,
as he oft did at hers
   his unanswered love,
   his perpetual embrace
He would caress her with his stone
hands, devoutly wishing for the white heat
of her caring reciprocity

Thither they dreamed,
though of him, she never grasped, 
but only an altar of someone 
she once touched, of what might've been--
And the unknowing was 
the latent desire of both,
but the two blundered a chance,
though-- once upon a time?

Ergo, there, he abode silently 
Fully unclothed, she tormented him at night
with sunny flowers in her graying hair
He would drink in her earthy vanilla skin
as she reclined next to him, cuckolding


 
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Posted by on November 16, 2021 in Poetry

 

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