Detritus
Sitting there, honey,
Cleansed and bathed,
Scented with lilac and rose,
Glistening at your dressing table, and
Eyeing yourself in the chrome mirror;
I, as your guest, sit by and watch,
Astonished at your well-intentioned revealings,
Seeing your young beauty at morning tide,
As hands and fingers apply the detritus,
To nineteen year-old eyes, awash in teen wisdom.
I sense there is something you...
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