Her, Her, Her

November 15, 2016
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I am the one whose eyes behold her eyes
And what I’ve seen so far in them is this:
The frost that glitters every morning lies
Within the depths of her blue irises.
Her skin so pale the moon trembles with rage.
How dare anyone glow brighter than he?
Her voice a whisper, like turning a page.
Her stature tall and thin like a pine tree.
But when our conversation dwindles down,
I am content to watch her just exist.
A gracefulness consumes her toe to crown.
A sadness shrouds her like a morning mist.
Oh, I long to hold her til that sorrow
Becomes a distant thought for tomorrow.

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