tracing the contours of your body,
like an artist without aim.
You are not mine, but tonight
I will resist the sadistic urge to follow
the last breaths of moonlight.
I will remember the tortured pages of
a diary I stole, mere hours
before those bruised lips confided
that I was beautiful, too.
Sleep sweetly, for I fear
the dreams that have kept you awake.
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Since I have an apparent inability to convey this through my poem, here's what was in my head.
Spoiler! :
Gender:
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