Oh, the moon should be cautious of me,
The moon should always glance to know
If i am still here, dressed or naked, despite
With all of my conscious sins and unconscious
Witnesses; my eyes could blindly exclaim
Their servile worth.
I have been watchful of him all of my years awake,
I could say i am familiar with him
But same cannot be justified to me;
How selfish is it for him to see
Through a hole in me?
A hole i cannot foresee, cope with;
Or will ever be of my own consent.


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steven ~Randomness rocks, and Poetry Rules~

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