oh so young when first i fell to fawn
but now its four years on
and though slight your shape belies
the teenage tambour of your tongue
face and frame precious and plain
yet all such things one day succumb
you were 10 as i turned 21
but now its four years on
though liberties such as these scarcely trouble me
sweet sweet weakness please
the way you tease
quatordici in spotty cheeks
favors me such strange relief from certain culpabilities
and renders scenes so indiscreet someday to which wed seldom speak
so tender me this decency
that stays thee safely out of reach
(scarcely half your age)
all the same were it true
still theres room for two inside of you
but whats come over me
would i falter hapless in your fleur de lis
or the spare expanse beneath
oh no not me so sickened to the teeth
to see thee rendered free of hallowed modesties
but oh that i could be among
those fresh and fair faced thieves
that stand to seize
your sunbleached symmetries
and piece by piece these brief eventualities
would reap of me in feats flung far from me
whod treat you tenderly
until we cease to be