He is hungry.
He is longing.
He wants to see himself through fresh eyes…your eyes.
He wants your voice to assure him that the past years, the past months are not his life.
He wants your kiss to revive him from the dead leaves of winter he’s been standing on.
He wants your arms, your tender touch to remind him of what he once felt with her.
Beware little lamb.
Beware that his gaze is temporary.
Beware that his voice will fade in the distance.
Beware that his kiss will disappear.
Beware that his arms will find another.
He doesn’t know yet; he is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Victoria Yeary 