oh so young when first i fell to fawn but now its four years on and though slight your shape belies the teenage timbre of your tongue face and frame precious and plain yet all such things one day succumb you were 10 as i turned 21 but now its four years on liberties such as these scarcely trouble me
sweet sweet weakness brings the way you tease quattordici and spotty cheeks favors me such strange relief from certain culpabilities and renders seemed so indiscreet someday to which wed seldom speak so tender me this decency that stays thee safely out of reach
all the same were it true still theres room for two inside of you
but whats come over me would i falter hapless in your (fluidly) of spare expanse beneath oh no not me so sickened to the teeth to see thee roam free of hallowed modesties but all that i could be among those fresh and fair faced thieves that stand to seize your sunbleached symmetries and piece by piece these brief eventualities would ween of me and feats from far from me would treat you tenderly until you cease to be