They cannot say if, as real or illusions,
they really may, or may not, have been born.
This brings a "woe is me" to the confusions,
by which they wail and grieve, sorrow and mourn,
the life they may or may not live, and scorn:
because they have ascribed their inconsistence,
with all its fearings, frightenings, and "shockings!"
to all modes, means and manners of existence.
But yet, their sad sacks never can intrude
upon the soft, exploratory mood
of two (quite legally consenting) boys---
longhaired, slender, and quite comfortably nude
(except their legs and feet sheathed in sheer stockings)
as they experience first Love's fresh joys.
Starward