Unbathed


He accepts her 

puddling about his feet in a rather 

inconvenient way

as though he –

a rainbow

and she

a past drizzle of a  day 

who ought revel 

in his pleasure play

at being god upon her stage

and so arrives at this-

of course,

she must kiss all he has ever done

or will do

or think or 

say

and not fail his cruelties

upon her form

but rather see his crave for war

as handsome

winsome

manly

or in the missing of such expression

reflecting all he wants to see

glisten

within her eyes…

he stumps upon her puddled hues

of course never knowing

or wanting to know

or see

she huddles there

she puddles there

unbathed

in all his glory in her quest 

to become 

dew

he – a silly stomping

boy 

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