She's the midsummer's flowers,

The prolonged days hours.

My reason I search for an immortal diet

Just for a glimpse of her eternal souls quiet.

She's the delicate petal's residue that remains on your fingers.

The soft tickles from blades of grass that lingers.

Her spirit far surpassing one to indict,

So here, locked away, I sit and write.

Her body, a glimmering ray of sunlight,

And the moon's butterflies dress her in the vast and stary galaxy we know as night.

Her sweetness lies where suckles dwell

And her eyes are blue pools, worth more than a crystal’s wealth.

She's the rose tamer.

Wild thorns wrapped around her wrists, dripping her icore onto which only took likeness to her.

Her cuts wept a multicolored pomegranate, 

thus creating the lustful petal color that enchants it.

She is the night, she is the day.

Her smile is where all hope lay.

She is my midsummer's dream.


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