A short poem I composed a few days ago....
Perfection
Innocent as dew on the grass gathering at midsummer’s morn:
Fresh as a daisy, delicate in her long dark hair.
Maybe she is pure mountain air, never been breathed,
Clean as a clear, clear stream.
At the end of a crisp moonlit night, a bright beaming light
Shines a path to a draft of aromatic coffee grinds.
She walks down the stairs and I stare at her flowing gown.
Tanned brown,
She simmers in the sun, simmering my glimmering hopes of
affection.
Perfection is what I see, and I see no other, so it must be
you.
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