The sun has cast its gloom upon my face
Shrouded in net at which my heart does pace
And the cloth with one eye gleaming outward
Like a leaf covering my mortality,
Half a lip showing, nostrils bellowing under the fabric
Shadows the clean expanse of cutis,
Smooth, sweaty, with a twirl here, a curl there
And I hide not my shame,
Or my glory nor my fame
But my story,
Silenced by the shadows of the night,
Becoming more me,
Bashful and demure.
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