He’s tempted by the promise of first blood,
Enraptured by her sense of playfulness and fun,
What’s a little interaction, it can’t do any harm,
He offers a well-meant hand & to be a guiding charm.
It’s a fine line, a defined line, a line he’d never cross,
As he drifts with his desires, the point is not lost.
Disturbing thoughts on a family trip to the park,
Which continue to plague him, magnifying after dark
He can’t fathom if he’s respected or resented,
Yet at all times, he must maintain discretion.
It’s a fine line, a contrived line, a line harbouring regrets,
It’s an ancient adage, which he resists, and those close to him detest.
There’s an old dance; he’d like to perform,
As he turns from the dresser, clutching a bourbon.
The alcohol sinks in, the sweat drips from his head.
In a quiet moment of rage, he steals her innocence.
It’s a fine line, a redefined line, a line he chose to cross,
All he can do is run now, and pray he won’t have to count the costs.