January 23, 2020

Ale Park I Urn

We were standing in the gardens of lucidity,                                                       

Where she talked about times she spent with angels.

None of this really mattered to me,

As I gazed into her eyes where her beauty blends,

Within her shaded hair I watched a butterfly rest

Her complexity of stories was a therapeutic dream

When she left I was inpatient to see her again

Looking forward to a new story,

To a new day.

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