checkmate
there's a flower blooming in the early spring sun
like the sentiment I used to feel for the beloved
whose lips never let a stray word of praise ring
in the suffocating air of my wandering presence
I know I am no match for her, no enlightenment needed
she prefers body caresses to those of literature nature
adored because of every virtue and the lack of mistakes
I watch from afar, not really interested in making a change
'the road to hell is paved with good intentions, dear' she'd say
with a dangerous glint in one of her many alluring smiles
it is not that she surprises me daily, she fails to continue in fact
I know already too much either to forget or to let the walls go down
one day she'd embrace me, twisting a thorn out of my side
just to bury it deeper into the tentative flesh, eyes made of glass
I hope I'd manage to get his reflection at last out of my head by then
the taste of honey promising lips never wasted on me though
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