And just like you peony, whose face I fall into and follow the mystery and never anguish over an answer...

 
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And just like you peony, whose face I fall into and follow the mystery and never anguish over an answer, I fall into his face through the lens. Bringing close what is distant. And never seeking an answer. Never forming a question. I am stumped with the mystery of his bright green eyes and tawny skin. He and the peony. Stop. Me. Still.