sweet burnt red faded by the sun
in a field against his skin cresent edge
glows in my muddled blues
and holds my gaze like gravity
as if an elevator tore and
my weight on its smooth steel sides
rushed its fall into
the basement where
a million paintings hung themselves
tightly to the worn wood walls
and together they screamed a symphony
of sweet waiting's surpassing love for
the boy blurred through an ethics door

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