In his repose, he is straining for something great.
In his languidness, there is something fierce.
Always eyes that are watching,
Searching for flaws and beauty.
He wears his calm as a disguise.
Inside, he is restless,
Running up to higher ground
To escape the fire consuming his soul.
One corner of his mouth always rises in a gentle smile
Whenever we happen to lock eyes.
"Life isn't easy for us spies," he seems to say.
Knowing that he is only half serious,
I nod my head and carry on my way.
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