The Dirty Shirt

With a tenderly hand, and heart of fear,
Such feebleness known in young year--
Scraped the skin to callous;
Smoothed the concrete into brick,
Placing each carefully 'til it hid--
Not a one was to see.

But then prancing those kittenish eyes came--
Masking a ravenous wolf--
Chiseling brick by brick, tearing concrete,
'Til, with all charming subtleties,
Rough skin was quenched to smooth;
And there it was for one to see.

Quivering with love, desire and vulnerability;
The hooks lodged on fleshy tablets--
Gripped on a tenderly hand, a heart of fear,
The feebleness of young year--
To be torn inside out like a dirty shirt,
As the lines were reeled away.

And there it was for everyone to see.