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Jun 2016
As the seas of grass
pass
by my periphery,
folivory turns into a blur,
and the whir
of an engine
deafens
my nerves, but not my mind,
and I climb to rewind,
to remind myself,
the way I
felt,
how you smelled
and it all melds
into one thing
bliss
from one kiss.
I couldn't miss this,
no, not this.

Excitement piques,
my heart seeks
you out.
I can feel you close
as I write this prose,
and then suddenly I am glass
as the seas of grass
pass
by my periphery.
Petite Parcel
Written by
Petite Parcel  England
(England)   
425
 
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