i have just read your
outpouring, the tour
of your soul's anguish.
the choice for me is either
the one or the other.
i am a tyrant roguish.
i have long stranded here,
long without a cheer.
in later comfortable years
recalling youthful tears
i may yet laugh to grin
at these my mortal sins.
ask not for the decision,
forgive the indiscretion...
our past we may resume
if its past is not exhumed.
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