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Aug 2012
His casual gaze,
laser beam through my core.
Thrilling chill.

His tousled hair, scruffy jaw,
tight knot in my stomach.
Alarming warmth.

Your pianist's fingers,
bright eyes,
hardly a hair out of place.
. . .

Why then, when I look at them,
can I think only
of you?
Written by
Shila Yovake
935
 
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