January 17

Shed this shirt quick enough. Throw off these fine threads
required of work. Desert your skin, your attire
long enough to know the soft, inert touch, the strong

brush of calm. Avert rude thoughts that hush
sweet voices, the faint flirting, the fleet
caress of one who can exert less
than a kiss, lest he hurt man.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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