A beau
Beautiful, pale face
In a dress that is just like
Snow
Except rarer
Thinner and with the wind
As it turns with your hips and
The faceless gusts catch
And your eyes flicker up at
Me but I can’t avoid your gaze
Your hair is a soft brown
Cream like your dress
They match your eyes
And the trees
There perfectly sour fruit that
Hangs in a deep red
And you have no shoes
This is a place where the long grass
Is soft and the wind rolls in it
And breathes in it.
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