How often I've mourned the loss of her blood red lips.
For it is my unworthy pride that has released her.
Her porcelain skin, pale as the winter lake shore.
I have placed my fragile dreams beneath her tender soles.
She takes care to tread softly upon these passionless dreams.
Her quiet and gentle form crosses with the lightest touch.
Still her unwilling heart shuns my lilac scented desires.
Her beauty is above the highest peak, yet as warm as a tropics breeze.
My Passion to touch her goes unnoticed as my soul withers beside the truth.
-Johnny V.
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