If you were Plato’s Lover

No words could be found to describe your Beauty,
But he’d search high and low.
He’d riddle each passerby
With questions so that he may know.
Yet well aware he’d be
That your you-ness cannot be bound.
For all the Hope that in you he’d see
Could nowhere else be found.
And when it came to his Love,
The one I know as my own,
The only explanation to be conceived of:
You are Good.

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If you were Plato’s Lover

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