• A Villanelle for Eros

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    I feel a pulse at the sight of your face.
    Your soft hazel eyes shall not let me be.
    I melt at the frame; you make my blood race.

    Would you imagine me covered in lace?
    This fond desire is heathen and icy.
    I feel a pulse at the sight of your face.

    Would you be flattered by my cold embrace?
    This careful secret lies in your mercy.
    I melt at the frame; you make my blood race.

    But you don’t respond, or leave a kind trace
    Or any word I need to console me.
    I feel a pulse at the sight of your face.

    You look sublime, with a touch of God’s grace.
    I am wild-mannered, and earth-bound, and free.
    I melt at the frame; you make my blood race.

    You are a phantom, bereft of this place.

     

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