Be not in reality.

It was written on her brow,

raised above the eye,

questioning and inquiring,

blaming with a sigh.

She had a way about her,

a single minded brain,

and though I just wanted,

she always said the same.

In fantasies we fondle,

like teenagers in the rain,

keeping warm by pressing bodies,

an excuse for the game.

I sigh at gentle memories,

like scavenged bits of tin,

for only in this memory,

will that love begin.

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