York

The pull of her liquid eyes
And you are enraged
She is infected with sighs
Diseased by that desired

A classic sign of craving
What she should not want.
Now a promise; behaving
You enter the détente

You maintain a grave silence
Whisper, quietus
She objects, is defiant
‘Leave,’ she says, ‘you must.’

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About Room7

This is my blog, with spelling mistakes, typos and a random approach to punctuation. Critiscm accepted, constructive feedback much appreciated. Please comment.
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