A Beauty Of Her Kind
These fingers wish to creep through vales
Of dark and silky hair.
And write the words of wonderous tales,
But here I only stare.
Stare while all the strangers smile,
And she, she smiles back.
But their eyes wander far in miles,
While mine can keep close track.
I'll close my eyes and feel her hands
And wake in tight despair.
Rubbing skin where dreams should land,
But here I only stare.
The beast may take what it desires,
But man must play a game.
Pieces used are burned in fires,
While winners hold their fame.
I'll never play; for fear of loss,
Instead I'll find a chair.
Perhaps she'll stay or wander off,
For here I only stare.
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