Wandering Hands

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You thought you could touch me
Like some cheap copy of Venus di Milo
At a snoozing exhibit where you can just come and go
As if my skin were a cupola
Where all souls are welcome
You thought you could finesse me
With cheap flowers and plastic
As if I were so easy to buy
At any corner of any street
You thought you could fool me
Like any other man
As if I didn’t know better
But I’m ten steps ahead
And you just leaped into a spinning hell
My dearest naive.

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