I have the grammar of a five-year-old this morning.

A perfect fortune
Found in a swerve
Not even the Nazcas
could capture your curves.
When missing you could mean
You're only just leaving
Or simply not as near
as I would like you to be.
Love can make
A perfect fear
This one I'd be glad to keep
I hope you know
My heart wants you here
But the mind can anytime
Cause your picture to appear.
Just one more refresher
to carry through my years.
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Filed under love, poetry, writing

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