Promised Ideal

There is this woman
Who happens to sit in the room
At the back of the room, next to the wall
Does she choose to reside
Not any one time does she sit
At the front near the exit
But always seems she’ve got won’t
Of the air near the back wall

Rarely or singular are the times she smiles
Although so seldom does she frowns
In her dimples there exists a power
A power that binds and pulls like a magnet
The dimples deem a prowess sure to pursue

In her eyes
The liquid attracts, abstract, and attacks
It attracts anything of fine repute
It abstracts and attacks anything of filthy repute
In recompense
I long to stare into them
That holds the power to attract and abstract

Another week
She is here, same position,
Same back
Near the wall
She holds my desire
And controls my emotions
That today
I choose to sit at the back
Just to ride the tub with her

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Disclaimer: The image used herein is in the public domain and taken from the Internet. Due appreciation and credit is acknowledged for the same.

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