i cower naked
at your feet
at the brevity
of my aging pride
by the myriad eyes
that look away
from unworthy i
unreservedly keening
the loss of me
pettily preened
with wanton seeming
still believing
that i might yet
(when beheld by you)
be more than this

i crouch naked
at your feet
bereft of whim
somberly pleading
bleeding words
without meaning
my knees creaking
my bones speaking
of time and dust
my flesh trembling
in the frigid light
of the moon
dissembling a calm
i do not possess
while yet hoping
that i could somehow
(when loved by you)
be more than me

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