Pure
The face you use to look at me is creamy, pure as yet, unlined The bloom of youth fills your cheeks; the rosy hue, not an invitation but a stop sign Yet, through the eyeholes of your milky mask you beam a challenge at me I never see your face flushed with tequila or those eyes flashing at some helpless boy as your limber body is draped across his lap; those visions are forbidden to me In our casual conversations, I contemplate the savage purity of the mask you show me Yet, in the quick, tense moments when my eyes brush across yours I see a teasing invitation shining at me and I become that helpless boy Written February 21st, 2002 © on Feb 21 2002 07:00 AM PST 10 • 0
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"The face you use..."