Tuesday Night Post #2-18 / by DBL

Pardon My Grace,
So, I shit these out every Tuesday.  You deserve more intent and at least a bit more gentlemanly attentiveness.   Now what is left is to hone the art of simmering the pot.  Cooking it at the right temp to see if there is some maturity in the words. 
In any case don’t hate my love song, so to speak.  It comes from places unknown that I seek and stumbled onto.  It’s not an excuse or an apology, no no, not at all.  They are just words that come before the ones below, like an excuse to engage you in a prolonged kiss.    

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Pearing Down to Geometry
(Stories of the Two)

I plan to see you through the end.
Even though these words you will find fitting but somewhat removed.
I speak in hopes of sharing what I have seen in precious moments of the obscure.
If I can, can I remove the Figure Square and the picture in which it was there?
De-flesh the souls that saw, retreat all that are an event with minimum draw.

Lines that intersect to a box
Four planes one of which we have the floor
This plane could be of future use
Altitude we will not share
Losing one, peer in there
A plane removed became the door
He entered
We see him now a ray that has only one direction
Back into itself
The dots that form the set that are in this box
Some of three
One of two
2 of one
Separate lines wind and wrap
The three in the box
The white landscape
Packaged well they won’t tell
From the space displaced went the ray that held the first unwind
To the area of the right triangle
Composed of intersecting planes
Each its own
Finding time, laying low
Tender moments left to show
Concentric circles that became his eyes
He had a glance

Even then he would not take that chance, but what he saw the Colors True.
They themselves list the shades he tried to hide.

In the honey brown he did not lose knowing there was interest, which he could not refuse.
Light brown segments made the flow, round the evidence of a wish he traced often.
Fleshy pink and purple nodes, a dense line that should be avoided, this is where a closer inspection finds repetition like before.

An arc that ends up a sweet gesture.
Congruent figures, a light brown section of orbs rolling to the lower quadrant.
Just the same he saw her change in his direction.
The helix that wrapped around her bare, fell to the plane that is now of use.
Two adjacent angles on a block, slowly flowing to a spot.

Can I leave it where we are? 
At this point, which I find fair left to unravel with only the two to share.