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What mystery lies beneath trembling chin,
locked tightly, ensconced in that breast?
Secret thoughts vacillate between whimsy and whim,
leaving not time for peace or for rest?
‘Tis desire, my dear, a yearning intense
fanning embers of hope’s lonely flame,
hidden long and held fast in tender suspense,
knowing only thine true love by name.

by Melissa Kro.

Desire

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