|Dennis Auburn Miles|
With dark magic you break into the caverns of my memories. A vaporous arcane finger begins its assault on my sequestered passions and in an absolution of experience, all visions of women begin to morph into beauties reflecting you. I labor with the change, and find my smile is a close companion in willing submission to your spell. How is my power taken so quickly in our interludes? I blame it on the slipping years, their subtle grip slowing my resistance, and with gradual persistence, opening my world to your reaching grasp. A knowing glance chases my hesitations, and with prowess you pursue my remaining enclaves. You and I now, become we.