Perhaps Three

There are two of them

Perhaps three;

Yet one is all he

Wants you to see.

 

The charming prince,

The raconteur

The one so full

Of creative allure

 

And in the shadowed places

Where the alley cats watch

Scheming faces

 

The self-same hands that

Show manicured trust

Clasp knuckle tools

Caked in blood and rust.

 

The very fingers that

Daintily offered

Champagne, and gifts

All wrapped and proffered.

 

Curl around a neck

And gently squeeze

And scratch into the

Trembling, parting knees.

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