FOMO: The Scarlet Prisoner

To seek beauty is to risk being blind
By varying hues
so many fine and abundantly bright
Slim and thick in thigh
Runners, creative gunners
short of chefs, strategist
Casual, driven, Athletic
glaring postures, Statuesque
good head on shoulders, fit
dirty blonde manes,
brown curly Dos, twilight Caesars
Conquering Cleopatras,
independent wild hearts
passionate dancers
And the rest that’s not so great

To want to see is
the fear of missing,
The prospect of not hearing
The low and slow strumming
from a scarlet prisoner
Somewhat protected
In the acoustic cage of calcified embraces
And in each moment, you exchange
with these diverse faces
He peeks and when it’s right
props himself on a flattened string
Leveraging his position on familiar grounds
rosier in-carnations and idealistically green
Tierra that are just above a finite mantle
Pressed against the crusted resting place of many failed attempts romantic
But I digress, and you self-deprecate
And if you’re actually funny
He echoes in the bass, of my every laugh
Slipping words through the lines of a smirk
waiting for when discouraging thoughts are at rest
He rummages with aim,
through the coffers,
Through the fortified chest
He decrees with the fount tin pen
to paper letter, to typo filled text
And by the lights
He reads your replies again
waiting for the right hands
left to pull the strings through the cracks

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