IMG_1397 (2)The naked Truth never inspires Interest

No, rather a Hint of a Suggestion

Trips the waiter’s Tray, unsettles the Nest

By exerting some Force upon the Chin

Pleasant . . . if a Whisper cold float, have Color

Muted I think . . . Pink, Bronze, pale Blue or Peach

Some deep Chord resonates by some Flavor

Who plays this sweet Music? What Hand does reach?

Fragrant . . . the Tilt of a Neck, a slight Leg

The Shadow within a Cleavage bare

Just a tiny Bite of some foreign Egg

Never a Touch, the Lure twists a Light, rare.

    Song without Note, the Form, bent & reedy

    But a Hint, now there’s a sweet Melody.

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