Etchings of sunlight,
Shatter a glass world,
A glass heart.
Melting the grains,
To create,
To deceive the eyes,
To make love.
A puddle of molten glass,
Is held,
Shaped,
And without meaning to,
Reformed delicately,
Lightly,
Lovely...
So lovely...
He can't stand it,
The feelings that surge inside of him,
Of lust,
Of vanity,
But mostly of
Pure
Unadulterated
Affection.
I believe there is a word for it.
No,
Not a word,
A name....
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