a little sting

Out here, the wind is biting hard; 
He turns his collar up, and strides 
Into another diffidence -- 
The way our young skins turn to hides: 
  Exposure. Time. Fragility.
  A little sting -- a trail of mud -- 
  The habits that we meant to form, 
  And dimples really made 

  Of blood

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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