The secret I retain no more, in the shelves of my soul,
The tales and scales of our moments,
The darkest passion, with no comparison,
The craziest glamour, sired illicitly,
The brawniest mystical portion,
I never drunk from any pot but yours,
Whether they were a passing wind or infatuation,
I care not, for this is my proclivity,
This distance and silence, running deep and scary,
Hopelessly gripping to it, to cleanse dark crimes,
I still miss you in that silence and distance,
You are still here, beside me,
I miss you Ms. Faustin.
.
Am a Single Day Father, like my father.
I have never accepted my son,
And show him my inner feelings,
This is a trend which comes from my father,
He never became dad to me,
I never saw him holding me,
Buying me sweets and big G!
Never had sleep on his chest!
And feel the love from his heart!
Look at me! I have father but nor dad!
Shame on me course I have done the same,
Left my son with her mother,
Never feel bad for that,
Shame on my father for he created this.
They say, I was illicitly child.
Borne under sinful love,
What about my son?
Is he the same?
I am a Single Day Father, like a Father like a Son.
I declined beauty’s invitation
she approached in shadow
cool and yielding to the eye
a momentary nakedness
not thrilling as flesh illicitly exposed
but soothing
like truth perhaps
if there were such a thing
damp and rich
as soil after the rain
possessed of scent and curve
grey and subtle brown
delicious in her nuance
but I withdrew
too clothed
to contemplate without shame
a thing
of such manifest reality
too crude to entertain a passion
without lust or consummation
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