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I should converse more with my son
stop him recede wider from me
should lose no time to hold him strong
we haven’t exchanged much recently.

Our morning tea must find me a way
to draw him to talk and look at my eyes
seize I must some time every day
so I succeed after a few failed tries.

Our dinner shouldn’t pass silently dull
but spiced with jokes and diary of the day
must break laughter the hardening lull
and ensure on the table a longer stay.

I should converse more with my son
grab all the time could be together
days are shorter and crying to be gone
but the bond we leave must be worth a treasure.
I am sat here alone now
on Table 36. Still ****** in the afternoon
and maliciously lacking function.
Now eyes stray to the barmaids
without a grain of guilt;
indeed, with thirst and *******.
These words come fast and easy
in the humdrum silence
that followed from your chaos.

I have given up on hope,
sat at Table 36. Only placed in the future
and in the absence of action,
for the years I lost myself to you
I combed the mirror of life
in the hope to clean up my act.
Now words come easy
in this newborn retreat,
free from your pain,
free from your deceit.
C
The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.
Pure passion is ecstacy...

— The End —