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