https://allpoetry.com/lindaburns
He walks in beauty in speckled shade
by only glimpses he is known.
Of golden patches he is made.
Before you see him, he is gone.
Intent is he to apply his trade;
with hottest blood, hearts coldest stone.
Were light to come more than this
more obvious his vile intent.
At first he will only lay the kiss
and another way to meet invent.
Think not his patience is remiss
Ending he allows no dissent.
Think not because his eyes are bright
or because his physique is so fine tuned
that he will not lead you into the night
and there inflict that horrid wound
that cancels out innocence and light
and leaves you to all good obtund.
WRITTEN BY:
LINDA BURNS
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