Friday, 25 May 2012

Maybe

Ice cream clouds
Music that fills you
And leaves you gasping.

Your hair. The colour of old mahogany. Of the sun-sprinkled trees outside your verandah. Your hair smelled of cigarettes and wood smoke.
Your eyes. The twinkling of your shadowed eyes when your spectacles caught the odd, maverick ray of omniscient sunlight.
I've known you in so many ways. You're my answer to everything.

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