His honeyed words aren’t worth keeping in a jar on a shelf overlooking you as you sleep. They won’t keep you warm or chase the nightmares away. All they’ll manage to do is haunt you like a common ghost.
Those lips are sweet, and his eyes shining, but what has his hands done? What has his heart shown you? How has he used his mind other than to think of the right words to weave like a spell to keep you entranced?
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