Monsieur, you are staid, professional, solid enough; quiet, muted.
Yet you are a wild man.
When you strip your clothes, the frenzy begins. How can such passion hide under a veneer smooth as the pin stripes in a suit?
I remember, and am awakening. Erotic energy rises like smoldering bush fire. In your absence.
For you are not here, only there.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
-oh, writing process- on Metaphor
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