An Ode to John Doe

An ode to John Doe.
Who comes to me,
Cloaked in anonymity.
My lips, my tongue
My skin,
Are no strangers
To his touch.
Yet much;
Is left unsaid,
Unseen.
In the mingling
Of legs, arms,
body. Words
Don’t remain.
The language
Of the bed
Only reigns.
The borrowed time
Slips away.
Mr J S Doon,
Is bonding
With his family.
A stranger to me,
Again.

Reflection

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