This tryst will undo me, buttons and all. I think, What moves should I make, what words should I say? I’m teetering, teetering on the brink. My ardor is cooling, if not quite extinct. I must not attempt another replay. This tryst will undo me, buttons and all. I think My courage is rising—or does it sink? My body stiffens, yet seems to sway. I’m teetering, teetering on the brink. This psychic upheaval is just a kink In my chemistry, hormones at play. This tryst will undo me, buttons and all. I think I’ll proceed with caution. I’ll calm and link My witless thoughts, keep feelings off display. I’m teetering, teetering on the brink— I’ll conquer this passion, embalm it in ink— Time to write it off, make perception pay. This tryst will undo me, buttons and all, I think. I’m teetering, teetering on the brink.
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This poem is of the villanelle form. A villanelle is a verse form running on two rhymes and consisting typically of five three-line stanzas each alternating the refrains introduced in the first stanza and ending with four lines concluding in a couplet.
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