The Look

It’s that look.

Trying to be passive,
Like the burn of your stare,
Doesn’t set fire to her imaginations,
Like she doesn’t care.

It’s that look.

As if she’s not troubled,
At the realisation,
That she’s going to love,
Because love is devastation.

It’s that look.

Those pouted lips poised,
Like a gate rigged shut,
Giving her time think,
With her brain and not her gut.

It’s that look.

That says “back off”,
But also says “stay”,
Almost like a doll,
Yet her soulful eyes betray

It’s that look

Like hors d’oeuvres,
You absolutely adore,
A delicious treat leaving you weak,
And hungrier for more.

 

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