So I’ve committed the crime of being born.

But I thought you’d be my salvation.

I offered what few poems I had
to touch the wisp of your whisper

and I listened to your wiles
knowing how cute is the charm
to disguise the desires for

the fantasy love
as if I could be all that

fat chance

I was born ugly.

2 thoughts on “**

    1. Thanks. I suppose the painter who paints beauty can become beautiful or… (I don’t know — it’s je ne sais quoi ha…)


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