Flesh so pale
With a permanent twinge
Of apricot-coloured passion
Shining through the
Scattered scars
Barely hinted on your arms.
Dusty blue eyes
Clear as the summer’s morning light.
Tell me, as you run your hands
Through your sandy hair,
How does it feel,
How does it feel,
To be a beautiful young man
Created in the image
Of radiant majesty?
You are a darling collection
Of everything I want
But cannot call my own. |