Ode to Narwhals

January 8, 2012
She smells like a cold, rainy day
In the backseat of a car
And her eyes are the woods at dusk
Her voice a shooting star

Her laugh a is a bonfire on the beach
Her hand the wind in my hair
She looks at me like melting caramel
Her kiss is the fireworks’ glare

Her serenity as she sings to me
Crushes the hints of doubt
Her skin on mine, late at night
Is the ninth cloud

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