Her smile purchased my heart,
Ate it whole
Skin soft and supple,
It watered my deepest imaginations,
Your words brought tears to my eyes,
They were an inch more than perfect,
For you wouldn’t understand,
Your good heart won’t accept my praise,
Her words struck gold,
For in that portrait I glowed,
I’ve met a pure simile,
Hence my metaphors need not conjunct,
Little medusa, for she’s seduced my verve,
And made me nothing but a dreamer
That my days are nightly,
The easterly wind forging a mast,
Into which I sail.

– Smyekh David-West.


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